How to happily harbor a viper in your midst
by Sattar
Summary: Chapter17 "She got to his main hall first. Now on the both walls alongside the stairwell there were vaguely rounded shapes in deep green tones with occasional brown stripes ("It's an Enchanted Forest!" "Because I just need more magic and monsters in my life." "Can you not, Fenris? For like five minutes? As a grand romantic gesture, just for me?" "I think I'll manage six.")
1. Don't go looking for snakes

_A/N: Since it seems I'm going to continue this story, I decided to finally write a sensible description._

_This is a friendship romance. I know, it's hard to believe this in first chapters, but it'll get there eventually. This story will not retell the game, it's more about covering gaps and adding my own dialogs in-between of game's events. And my dialiogs almost always are sarcastic snarking. _

__A thousand of thanks to _Scarletstar20_ for beta-reading:)__

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><p><strong>Don't go looking for snakes, you might find them<strong>

"It took decades for other Blights to run their courses. This one? Less than two years. Don't you see? It never happened! It was all a Fereldan ploy!"

"Don't you dare doubt the Fereldan Blight! Of course it ended so quickly – my cousin was in charge. Because we Amells are just_ that _awesome." Erica Hawke laughed, turning back to her table. "Hey, I should put it in our motto! I mean, we're bloody nobility, we must have a motto, right?"

"Maybe we should get an actual estate first." Her brother Carver grumbled, but she just ignored him.

"Where was I? Oh, right. Isabela," Hawke murmured with a smile too soft to be genuine"You cheated, my dear."

"Oh, you're wounding me with such preposterous ideas." Isabela pouted, collecting her winnings.

"You'd better not to do it again. Not with me." Hawke said with the same tone.

Isabela smirked to herself. She rather liked Hawke; the girl was fun, smart, mischievous, but confident and strong at the same time. She reminded Isabela of herself, not of who she was, but who she could've been, if she had had loving parents and ability to defend herself only with her mind. She was bright and fiery, and not just because she preferred fire to other elements. She was raised as the center of the universe, the brightest light, pride and joy of her parents. She never tolerated any abuse, she never knew rejection or humiliation and she was never betrayed by someone she trusted. Well-intended spoiled brat in other words. She thinks she can beat Isabela in cheating? Hah! Time to clip the wings of the little hawklet.

"So, what with that Warden-healer guy?" Isabela asked nonchalantly, shuffling and stacking the deck."I still can't remember why he seems so familiar…"

"Well, he was rather sweet. Up until point when he promised to hurt me." Hawke said, obliviously accepting from Isabela the worst possible hand.

"Hurt you?" Carver tensed, his hand rising involuntarily to the hilt of his sword. Isabela found it sweet that while the younger brother fully understood – and constantly complained - that his sister was way more powerful than him, he still couldn't get rid of his brotherly protective instinct. "How does he think he can hurt you? He's a healer and you're a walking firestorm."

The apostate chose possibly the most effective tactic, Isabela thought. Playing hard to get was one of the few ways to keep Hawke interested. She couldn't resist a challenge. She would take any job, no matter what odds are, if it matched her principles, of course. She only offered her help with Castilion when she found out why he was after Isabela. The little bird cherished her own freedom so much, she couldn't stand to see others harassed over theirs. She was the center of her world and in her world people like that did not exist, and if they did, it wasn't for long.

That was her problem. Pride. The girl would rather break her neck than bow it. She was willing to go into the Deep Roads just to throw the templars off her track. A track lined with scorched craters, because she'd set on fire everyone who tried to threaten her precious free will.

"Not that way, you silly thing." Isabela teased the young warrior lazily. "Next time you go to the Blooming Rose, find Llolth the Black Widow. She'll show you how proper hurting must be done."

Carver shot an embarrassed glance at laughing Hawke and blurted, "I'm not going there!"

"Oh, but why?" Hawke asked with exaggerated concern "Are you out of your pocket money already? Should I give you more? Because if it makes you whine even a little bit less, I'll arrange the bake sale."

"I hate you all." Carver muttered and crossed his arms over his chest.

Isabela chuckled and turned to Hawke "So, gonna give it a shot?"

"I don't know" Hawke sighed, laying her cards on the table and thoughtfully casting her eyes up at the ceiling. _Oh, you're such an easy victim, dear_, Isabela thought. In smooth quick motion the pirate moved her arm under the table to complete the perfect hand, but suddenly she was stuck. There wasn't anything physically wrong with her, she felt no pain, as if the air around her palm was petrified.

_Oh shit, that gravity thing that Hawke is so fond of on the battlefield…_

Meanwhile Hawke just rambled on, looking absolutely innocent.

"I mean, we know each other for like what, two days? And he's already all "I'm gonna hurt you, baby. I'm gonna hurt you hard."

Isabela felt how her cards slipped off her fingers and silently gritted her teeth, still keeping the light smile on her face. Trying to accuse Hawke in cheating while being caught and frozen in the middle of it herself would be pathetic. And Hawke would just pretend to "marvel at the Maker's true wonder" as if she had nothing to do with it.

"…But he's funny when he is not overdramatic. Come to think of it, he's funny when he's overdramatic too. So probably, yeah, I'll give him a chance."

Isabela wondered with annoyance when she would be able to move her arm from this awkward position, then there were cards in her hand again and she was free. The mage had just switched their cards.

"You arrogant magical ass." The pirate said, throwing her cards at the table. She took part in too many duels to not understand when she lost. "You have many tricks up your sleeve, don't you?"

"Sure." Hawke smiled smugly. "Father had me learning this since we discovered my magic. He said card tricks help to develop precision and power is nothing without an accurate control. I can have cards flying around if I want or manipulate them within the deck or set up another player… actually, almost anything. So yeah, you just don't cheat with a force mage."

"Then why don't you use it all the time?" Isabela raised her eyebrow. Hawke was decent in the fair game, but not really good. She was too impulsive, lively and expressive to hide her emotions well. She was trying to pretend they apply to the dialog, not her cards, but Isabela could read her quite easily. But with this ultimate cheating magic she wouldn't need to worry or be dexterous and cunning.

"It gets boring." Hawke shrugged with disappointed smile. "No challenge, no interest. Useful when you really need to win, but I prefer the fair game."

"You do it with me anyway." Carver grumped from his corner. "You win all the time."

"No, you just suck, Carver." Hawke said and her brother snorted, turning away "Well, I'm sorry, dear, but it's true."

"Hmmm, no challenge?" Isabela grinned wickedly and pointed at the group of mercenaries who sat at the next table. "How about we don't cheat with each other, but see who can make those guys bite the dust first? And the winner gets the pretty one."

Hawke examined them, wrinkling her nose.

"Alright. But I'm afraid you'll get the pretty one anyway, because that mysterious fellow hides from my gaze."

"You're too picky." Isabela sighed. Hawke wasn't prude; she clearly had a few affairs in Kirkwall, though she refused to name them, and freely flirted with people and joked about sexual themes. But her standards were higher than the Viscount's Keep. Isabela suspected a "little princess" thing going on there. Well, maybe that Anders would make Hawke melt and swoon.

Maker, wouldn't that be a funny sight?

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><p>"That was… quite the entrance." I smirked, when Fenris passed out of sight.<p>

"I hope there will be quite the reward too." Isabela grinned.

"I wouldn't expect too much of a payment from this one…" I said carefully. There are really very few things that I can't tolerate at all and I always sympathize with the victims of slavery, demons and frills on clothes. I wasn't going to take last coins from a runaway slave.

"So, we went through all this trouble for nothing? Figures." Carver grumped and I glared at him.

"Why?" Isabela leered at me, immediately on guard. Varric stayed quiet for now, but I knew he's very touchy about making a profit too.

"Haven't you noticed? He's barefoot. He probably sold his last boots to hire that jumpy dwarf."

"Well, then he can sell his shirt too and pay _us_."

"You just want to see how far those markings go." I accused jokingly. _Come on, he was pretty and exotic, you should be at least intrigued…_

Isabela considered the thought for a second. "Do you think his markings are so… swirly everywhere? Or there are could be… different pictures?"She mused in the low voice. Alright, one side is distracted, but Varric requires a very different approach.

"Besides, we've already got quite a show!" I declared enthusiastically, winking at the dwarf. "How often can you see the white-haired elf in skin-tight armor glowing up and sticking his hand through the other guy's chest? I wouldn't sell tickets for less than a sovereign."

"Well, that could be a good story…" Varric muttered thoughtfully.

Seems we're all good and motivated. For now. I sighed. Being a leader of this band of misfits is no easy job, and certainly a peculiar experience. One day I'll persuade Aveline and Isabela to mutual consent and then I know I'm able to sell nugs as pets to Hightown nobles and convince Meredith that mages should be free.

_Ah, sweet dreams._

"Why does he need to fight them at all?" Isabela asked musingly as we headed to the Hightown. "I'm sure there are many people who would find this magical fisting thing worthy of giving a shelter and protection."

"He'd be too noticeable in the Blooming Rose." Carver snorted.

"Word of an expert." I teased and brother scowled at me, but Isabela continued

"Yes, but in some private estate, like one that your family once had… and you're gonna reclaim soon…" She trailed off, giving me a questioning and bit predatory look. I knew this one, it meant '_So, what do you think about this piece of man-flesh?_' I wrinkled my nose at her.

He was handsome, I couldn't argue with that. But… his white hair, that armor with spiky feathers on his shoulders, the pattern of his markings… It all just seemed so unnatural and decorative, as if he was designed to be attractive, to make an impression, to catch everyone's eyes. When he stood there in the moonlight, I could mistake him for an exotic statuette. Me, I'm more into natural style.

"We've already dragged one annoying guardswoman from Ferelden! Don't tell me we're collecting stray elves now."

"No, we're not, Carver. You can go home without any worry."

"What? Why?"

"That's an order." I said with my special icy tone, which meant that jokes are over. Fighting with Tevinter magister isn't gonna be pretty and I won't risk losing my last sibling.

Carver spat on the cobblestones and stormed off without saying goodbye. It's okay, he can hate me all he wants in the safety of home.

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><p>When we walked out of the mansion, Fenris was leaning up against the wall, looking like an actor who is about to start a tragic monologue. And he did.<p>

"It never ends. I escaped a land of dark magic only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul."

Now, now, we're quite dramatic, aren't we? The elf finally stopped propping up the wall and came up to me.

"And now I find myself in the company of yet another mage."

Sure, it's clearly a conspiracy, I thought with irritation. He pronounced "mage" in the exactly same tone that Gamlen uses for "your filthy dog".

"I saw you casting spells inside. I should've realized sooner what you really were."

Yeah, you should! And who did you think I was when you first saw me – in obviously mage's robes, with my glowing staff?

_Hush, calm down, girl, poor guy is a victim._

"Tell me then – what manner of mage are you? What is it that you seek?"

Alright, I'm done with calming down.

"Huh?" I said incredulously "Am I shitfaced drunk or are you a Chantry sister so I would confess to you my goals and dreams? Could you come up with something more personal in the first meeting?"

"What color your underclothes are?" Isabela suggested, smirking, but with genuine interest. The elf glanced at her quickly.

"What did you expect to hear?" I continued "I'm a blood mage, I wanna become an abomination and kill everyone around. Feel free not to pay me for my help!"

He frowned hesitantly. "It's merely a precaution. After all I've been through, I won't harbor a viper in my midst."

_What? You know, you arrogant ass, this viper can find better midsts to harbor in!_

A second before getting a fireball full in the face, Fenris held up his hands and said quickly, "I don't mean you, of course. I'm not blind. I know magic has its uses, and there are undoubtedly mages with good intentions. But even the best-intentioned mage can fall prey to temptation, and then their power is a curse to inflict upon others."

Oh, you want to be ridiculous? Alright, I can be ridiculous too.

"Yeah? You know, once the guy with pretty green eyes - just like yours - broke my heart. Does it mean that I shouldn't trust anyone with the same feature?"

"It's not the same." He said after a pause, quirking his eyebrow. "I do not possess the power to affect others minds."

"But your eyes _are _enchanting." I murmured sweetly. Men always buy flattery and if you just randomly throw it in argument, they don't know how to react.

"You do have pretty eyes, I must agree." Isabela said musingly.

"What if you made me agree to help you in this dangerous adventure? Should I blind you or put an eye-band on you so I could think strictly?"

Heh, he's really cute with that 'lost puppy' look. I sighed.

"Hey, look, those Tevinter magisters are really assholes and you hate them, I get it. But it doesn't give you a right to throw accusations at every mage who comes along and, if you hadn't notice, helps you."

He shook his head and cleared his throat

"I imagine I appear ungrateful. If so, I apologize, for nothing could be further from the truth."

I cocked my eyebrow and smirked.

"Actually, serah, you do sound a little ungrateful. And by 'a little' I mean 'the size of an overfed bronto'".

His lips quirked with poorly hidden disdain. He took a purse from his belt and held it out to me.

"If it is the coins you're talking about, here is all I have, as Anso promised."

"I won't take your money." I said, lifting my chin. Varric coughed disapprovingly. "You can keep it as well as your blind hate for mages."

The elf knitted his brows "I do not like to be in debt to…"

He hesitated, choosing a word, and I put in acidly "…a magical viper?"

"…anyone, especially a stranger. So take the money." he finished firmly.

"No." I said stubbornly. "And I'm not keeping you in debt. So good bye, best wishes, yadda yadda."

I turned my back on him, preparing to leave, but he almost growled

"Vishante kaffas! Take it or I'll just drop it here!"

I looked at him, maybe for the first time really looked at him, and something stopped me from snorting, waving him off and walking away.

"Hawke, let's just take the coin as our friend demands and leave nicely." Varric cooed insistently.

Probably I should have done as he said. This elf was a real mess. But… what would happen to him if I walked away?

A former slave, in armor so catchy, without normal social skills and good contacts…

Maker's breath, he was lucky that Meeran bothered to tell me about that hysterical dwarf – he clearly didn't see this "contact" being worthy for the Red Irons. After a year of dealing with local folk, I could tell that most of the other bands and groups would just sell this guy back to his former master, just because it was more profitable.

_Oh shit. This was going to be the royal pain in the ass._

"I will not take your money." I said slowly "But to return your debt you can help me with an expedition that I'm planning right now. Deep Roads, lots of fighting, but good profit."

He blinked at me, his dark eyebrows going up in surprise. Isabela and Varric stared at me with same expression. The elf narrowed his eyes, examining me suspiciously.

I smirked, "Your chance to prove you're not blind, hm?"

"Fair enough." He muttered finally and walked past me to the door. "Should you ever had need of me, I will be here. If Danarius wishes his mansion back, he is free to return and claim it. Beyond that I am at your disposal."

Normally I wouldn't let anyone to spend their first night in the city in the mansion full of the fresh corpses of demons and abominations. In any other case, I would drag him to the Hanged Man and get him drunk and try to make him feel that he has his back covered. But this ungrateful arrogant trout… Nah, he can sit there and despise me all alone. So I just headed to the Lowtown.

Varric managed to feign disinterest for a whole minute or even two.

"And here I thought you didn't like him."

"It's reassuring to know that my storyteller still has his remarkable grasp for the obvious."

"Then why request his help?"

I sighed. "Varric, did you hear that sound when he handled me his purse?"

"What sound?"

"The delicious jingle that coins make when there are many of them in the purse. No? That's why I'm gonna make him work off the full price of our help. Besides, harassing my lil' grumpy brother is no fun anymore. And now I have a new victim to throw all fifty millions dirty jokes about greatswords that I've been collecting for my whole life."

"And it has nothing to do with those shining green eyes?" Isabela murmured wickedly.

"Isabela, _please_." I rolled my eyes. "If I wanted to hire someone for pretty eyes, I'd go to the Blooming Rose."

"So you won't mind if I go after him?"

"You can go after him all you want, just let me go get some sleep right now, deal?"


	2. She'll make you live her crazy life

_Thanks for the reviews, I really love to know your opinion than just to see "+ fav":)_

_I assume you know the plot, because I'm struggling enough with writing my own stuff to also retell game's dialogs. And trust me, it's really struggling! So many thanks to __ _Scarletstar20_ for beta-reading:)___

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><p><strong>Yeah, she'll make you go insane<strong>

"Varric, I loved 'Hard in Hightown'. What are you planning to write next?"

Varric thoughtfully sipped his brown ale and sighed. Norah got his order wrong – again.

"Well, Rivaini, actually I'm thinking about a romance novel. About an ordinary girl who is torn between two dark, mysterious guys. A tortured apostate, who is all like 'Stay away from me, I'm a monster! I will drown you in blood" and sparkles when he's angry and the dalish pariah, who's a werewolf because an evil mage cursed him and now he hates all mages."

Isabela grinned "Hawke is gonna kill you."

"She won't find out. She doesn't read that type of books and besides, I will have other names for characters. The girl is gonna be… Angelica Peacock, for example, the mage – Manders and the elf – Fenkis the Big Wolf."

"Hawke is sooo gonna kill you." Isabela laughed "But with whom she will end up?"

"I'm not quite sure yet, but I think… the apostate."

"Huh? Well, Varric, I'll tell you what." The pirate leaned up against the table and gave him lopsided grin "I don't know about your peacocks, but the ear in which our Hawke is gonna scream her lungs out will be pointy."

Varric raised his eyebrow and smirked.

"Broody elf? Undoubtedly, they make a beautiful couple… if you're deaf or at least have ear plugs. Those two surely do a lot of screaming, but it's more like spitting venom than moaning in passion. On other hand, she has so much in common with Anders: they are both mages, they are from Ferelden, they're crazy about their freedom. They squee over the cats, flirt all along and they even engaged in the tickling match."

"Will you risk 5 sovereigns on that?"

Varric sized the woman up, considered it for a second, and then shrugged.

"Hmm, yeah. I'll take your bet. I don't think Hawke and the elf can stop bickering long enough even for a kiss."

"Hey, sure they won't be all lovey-dovey and live happily ever after. I give them one night of mind-blowing hate-sex and never speaking about it again."

"Still not convinced. It's not even passive-aggressive 'I hate him, but I want his strong tattooed hands all over me' and 'Her beauty, namely her bright amber eyes, long gorgeous legs and perky breasts, is a vile temptation and I must resist'. No, it's honest barking and mocking."

"You're placing your money or not?"

"Fine, fine, Rivaini. You want to lose your money, I'm happy to oblige."

Still, when Isabela swayed her way out of room, Varric frowned, taping his fingers at the table thoughtfully. The pirate _did_ have a lot of experience in that particular field and if she was so confident, maybe he should try to remember details and see what he missed…

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><p>This woman amazed him. He just couldn't take his eyes from her.<p>

Mostly because it felt like if he glanced away for a second, she would immediately turn into an abomination and attack him. The greatest mystery about Hawke was that she hadn't become possessed yet. There was probably the tournament or war between demons in the Fade with her as the prize, because she was a walking feast of sins.

Selfish. Power-hungry. Proud. Short-tempered. Narcissistic. Stubborn. Childish. Carefree. Making fun of everything around her. And of course, a pyromaniac. She fought with raw primal energy, summoning rains of fire or storms of lightning on the heads of her enemies. It didn't even look like she controlled or aimed it, rather it seemed as if she was just blindly releasing wild powers of nature. She was a hurricane of destruction, dangerous and uncontrolled. And she was proud of it! She argued over the mage's right for freedom in the center of the Gallows!

"Oh, you make me feel so guilty that instead of sitting here on my ass, I actually help people in the city. Like, saving them from slavers or something."

Fenris frowned, but didn't argue back. He _did_ owe her a debt, even if he was regretting it now. So he just followed her with his gaze when she walked past him. She took a few steps, her back tensing more with each second before she finally turned to him again

"Oh, and while you're piercing holes in my back, could you please stare precisely at my right shoulder-blade? 'Cause it itches. Thank you."

"I heard a bath can help with things like that."

"Guys" Varric said softly "if we were in any other location than the Gallows' courtyard, I'd suggest you two to find a room and satisfy all itches that you have, but right now… can we move on already?"

She reminded him of another black-haired woman and it made him clench his fists so tightly that metal claws of his gloves dug into his palms. Hadriana.

Though at the first sight they seemed as different as ice and fire – the Tevinter mage was cold, calculating and self-controlled while the Ferelden refugee apparently couldn't manage tactic more complex than "rushing into any problem that comes into a sight." But it could be easily explained with her origins – she just lacked the imperial luster. The true, inner essence of them was the same, as always: selfish, hollow, social-climbing and not caring for anything beyond magic and freedom. And inexplicably, it seemed that every mage just couldn't help but try to mock him. But now he didn't have to bear it silently.

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><p>"Hawke, can you satisfy my curiosity?" Varric asked, approaching the mage.<p>

She shot a fast glance at him, furrowing her brows in severe concentration and biting her lip. She was juggling small fireballs and looked the way more focused than she ever was in actual combat.

"How can I keep all five of them in the air at once? Well, it's an experiment in the combination of force and fire magic and…"

"No, no, not this. As fascinating as your skill is, I have another question. "

"Hmmm?"

"Why did you kill that slaver? You got me to bluff him into believing the boy was a viscount's son and still attacked him. What was the point? You could easily shake the mage and the coins out of him and walk away without a fight."

"Varric, I fear your stories about me meeting slavers are gonna be a little predictable." Hawke muttered absently, not looking away from her juggling. "In the end, the slaver always dies."

"Huh, okay, got your point." The dwarf glanced at Fenris, who was walking a few steps away and staring at the ground as if it personally offended him. As an information broker, Varric had a very accurate idea about radius of an elven capability of unintentional eavesdropping. The warrior was doomed to hear every conversation in their little party. And if Varric got Hawke, who was now distracted and unusually non-snarky, to say something nice about the elf, it should… warm up things between those two. And things needed to be warmed up, because for now even a Merchant's Guild meeting was a love fest in comparison.

"Then it seems you and the broody elf have much in common."

"What? Oh, shit…" She snorted and dropped one fireball. "Like what, we don't grow beards?"

"You both hate the same things – slavery, blood magic…"

"Look, Varric" She sighed and all fireballs turned into little fiery griffons and flew away. Hawke spread her hands wide "He hates everything. And as any normal person, I hate some things." She outlined the small circle in the air. "Everything includes something by definition. Go ask him, I'm sure he hates the Merchant's Guild too. And excuse me, I'm going to practice tossing these over my shoulder. I will be a bit dangerous to be around. Just saying."

Yep, Hawke's way of warming things up. Fireball.

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><p>"Isabela, how many attempts do you think it will take you to cut off that red flower's bud on the top of that cliff with your dagger?"<p>

"Hmmm… rather long distance… On the second try, perhaps."

"50 silvers that I can do it with one lightning strike"

"Without destroying the whole flower? Huh, let's see!"

This time Fenris took a grim pleasure imagining how Danarius would pull out the little hair he still had at sight of this travesty. In Tevinter, magic was a lethal weapon to gain power and rule over the people, not a toy to play with out of boredom. Not for Hawke. She could juggle fireballs, create icy figurines and brag about them to others or levitate things around just for a laugh. When she wasn't chasing her mabari or singing absurd songs with the pirate, of course. Any magister would die from humiliation if forced to do any of this, but Hawke was proud of every second of it.

But with the possessed healer around it was even worse. Not just because they would run around, throwing snowballs at each other or something equally idiotic. No, he would also try to flirt with her, telling his 'touching stories' and there was no way to not hear that pathetic nonsense. Her eyes reminded him of sweetness of the wild honey that he tried in his first escape from the Circle.

"It was a taste of my freedom, Hawke, and I wonder… does it really tastes like you?..."

Wild honey is bitter, you moron! Besides, Hawke's eyes and honey? Not so dim and more brightly yellow. Like a fried egg, perhaps.

* * *

><p>"The Keeper didn't mention you were a mage." Hawke said with curiosity in her voice.<p>

"I imagine it's difficult to give away something nobody wants." Fenris snarled sarcastically and from the way Hawke very slowly turned to him, narrowing her eyes into slits, Varric could tell there was going to be fight. Again.

"All keepers know a bit of old magic." The Dalish explained, probably not recognizing venom in other elf's words. In this company, Varric felt bad for her already. "The stories tell us that all elvhen once had the gift, but like so many things, it was lost."

"Well, some of them lost even a banal civility." Hawke stated acidly, staring pointedly at the warrior and he turned to her, quirking his eyebrow and folding his arms. Shit was about to be flipped and Varric stepped up to the Dalish girl, smiling wildly.

"Stories? I love the stories. Actually I'm an expert in stories."

Fortunately, it was very easy to distract Merrill, who was more than eager to just ramble adorably about elven history. But Varric actually listened to the snarling behind his back, preparing to interrupt before somebody got killed.

"I imagine it's difficult not to be an asshole to someone you've just met?" Hawke mimicked the elf's words.

"Maybe it's the way they say "Hello and thank you for your help" in Tevinter." Anders managed to get a word before lightning started to strike really fast.

"With a mage you must take your chance before he turns on you."

"Because every mage dreams only about the chance to stab you in the back! We're not forgetting who the wanted one is here, don't you worry!"

"You know nothing of being hunted!"

"Oh, really? I have been on the run for my whole life and I will be until I die. There is an entire Order of Templars and the Chantry after me!"

"And they want to rip the flesh from your bones?"

"So I should piss into the Grand Divine's tea to make it personal and have a right to call you out on being a rude pig to a naive girl? Something nobody wants… blargh! And she's not a thing to give away, you of all people should know that!"

Varric could tell this blow hit home because the elf paused long enough for Anders to butt in.

"I don't understand why you're scowling when you should be delighted. There is now one more mage to bitch about! Isn't that your life purpose?"

When Fenris finally spoke, his voice was quiet and low.

"I suspect you wouldn't be so eager to defend this witch if she wasn't one of your kind."

"Last time I checked my kind was humanity. And shit, no, if you'd had a grudge against redheads, I'd defend them as well. I will not tolerate blind prejudice."

"Then why are you not storming the Gallows right now?"

"I'm not a fanatic or a fool with delusions of grandeur. I don't answer for the world order, but I do answer for myself and I will make what little difference I can. And the smallest difference is to treat everyone as an equal and worthy being before he proves different."

"This presumption of innocence will get you killed. The benefit of the doubt contradicts rules of survival."

"I don't want to spend my life surviving. I will live the way I see right or die fighting for my choice."

Varric felt he was the only adult, one who had to look after a bunch of pugnacious kids. When he finally got them moving, Anders was unusually silent and ground-staring; Hawke and Fenris were glaring daggers at each other. They met another Dalish, who barked at the elf mage – Varric's sense of stories tingled intensely, and the look Hawke gave Fenris over Merrill's head… oh boy, if she had any talents in Entropy, the elf would be mute for the rest of his life.

"Sundermount seems very… mountainous today. Lots of… rocks and hills." Hawke smiled at the Dalish girl reassuringly and they continued moving. Merrill led the way, which was probably for the best, because the girl seemed rather impressionable and could get a heart attack if she'd accidently caught one of the glares between a certain pair. It was almost fascinating that those two seemed to have a sensible dialog through only grimaces and gazes. Varric managed to decipher only a couple of first lines: Hawke's "_Say something and you're dead_" look and Fenris's scornful "_I don't need to repeat the obvious_" scowl. But they kept that up until they entered caverns, where it was too dark and spiderous around to continue.

* * *

><p>Tevinter's value system was twisted and fallacious. Everything and everyone has a price, where you're worthy as long as someone willing to pay for you and your self-esteem can't be higher than your market price… He ran from the Imperium three years ago, he despised and hated everything about, but its judgments were still slipping out of his tongue in the small details. And a mage of all people had to point it out for him.<p>

A principled mage. It sounded just as absurdly improbable as… whatever creatures people described in fairy tales to their children. But it was clearly just a childish whim. She knew nothing of real oppression or striving for survival. She would undoubtedly give up those beliefs after the first disappointment.

Of course, there was possibility to meet a strong, noble and selfless mage just as there was a possibility to find the diamond pendant of Orlesian Empress in the pile of rotten fish in Antiva. But to give a monster an opportunity to stab you in the back just because you can possibly offend an innocent… plain suicide.

And the Dalish mage proved him right straight away.

"Blood magic? Foolish, very foolish." Fenris stated calmly after the witch opened passage. Not surprising, only foolish. Let's see how Hawke's idealism withstands this.

"Yes, it was blood magic, but I know what I'm doing. The spirit helped us, didn't it?" Merrill turned to them, giving what she considered an 'explanation'. Helpful spirit. Is it just an act or is she really that dumb?

"Call it what it is. You summoned a demon." Hawke's eyes narrowed, expression changing from silent shock to cold distain.

"Demons are just spirits. Like honor or joy. It's not their fault they are what they are."

"Ignore the tiger. Not it's fault that it's going to eat you. Sound advice."

"Oh, I'm not blaming the demon for being a demon. I'm blaming you for being an idiot who made a deal with it!"

Fenris already opened his mouth to habitually snap back and then realized that for this time he and Hawke were actually on the same side.

_Would wonders never cease?_

"I needed help! If I had piles of lyrium lying around, I could have used that, but I didn't. I used what I had."

"Really? I've heard better excuses from the whores! Maybe you should've go and find those blasted piles of lyrium? There is an expedition heading to the Deep Roads right now, I'm sure it would be lots of lyrium down there. Or there is always contraband. But it's hard and difficult and dirty. You need to do jobs, meet people, find ways and think it through. Why bother if you can just sell your body, yeah?"

"Well, that's certainly an innovated comparison, but… " the dwarf finally interrupted Hawke's passionate rant.

Comparing blood magic to prostitution? Priceless. For all her flaws, Hawke was such a spit in any magister's face.

"Yes, yes, we keep going." Hawke snorted, shaking her head. Then she looked up at Fenris, her chin stubbornly high, and said firmly "And still you were wrong."

He wanted to smirk and say "We shall see", but kept silent and just followed her. The only reason he stood there now was that proud, idealistic people died for his right to be free. The right that he himself renounced. He could argue with Hawke, but even if he hated to admit, he stayed because he knew – when Danarius came, she would fight, no matter the odds.

He muttered quiet curse and it tasted bitter. Like wild honey, he thought with a dark smirk.

* * *

><p>"Hawke, you're a leader…" Varric started solemnly, but Hawke snorted.<p>

"What, really? I thought I'm just the resident firecracker."

"You're a leader and a good leader has to find a common cause even with the most different people."

"Oh, I can tell where this is going – somewhere very broody and grouchy."

"Hawke. I'm sorry, but you two are absolutely unbearable together. It's not healthy for a group when the leader and the main fighter want to kill each other more than our enemies."

"And what I'm supposed to do? Stop being a mage?"

"Just try to talk about anything not relating to magic. It's not so hard, you know."

"A-ha, but I already know how it'll look like. "Fenris, what is your favorite book?" – "Malleus Maleficarum"

"Still, would it kill you to try to be friendly?"

"I'm trying to be friendly! You can't imagine how much willpower it takes to not summon a little black cloud upon his head! To complete his image, I mean."

"Hawke." Varric said mildly. With that girl you just must stop talking at some point or she will joke around for ages. After a few seconds of silence Hawke finally huffed

"Alright, alright. I'll go try talk to him. Just for you, Varric."

Varric watched as she came up to the elf and made an exaggeratedly sugary smile.

"Why does Flemeth 'see a great deal' huh? 'The chains are broken, but are you truly free?' Pfft! I can give even more pretentious bullshit. Watch this!" She cleared her throat and howled "You can try to wash your past by dying your hair white, but the darkness of your eyebrows will always give you away!"

Varric sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"Right now I'm trying to pretend that I'm following someone more capable than a clown mage, but your inane prodding make this impossible." Fenris scowled at her, but rather lazily than with actual rancor.

"See?" Hawke turned to Varric, pointing at the elf "I tried to be friendly and discuss his hairstyle, but he just insulted me! He calls me names again!"

"It's just his way to systematize the world around. I'm a funny dwarf, for example." Varric said with resignation. At this point he was convinced that those two just can't communicate for good.

* * *

><p>"I did not scream and jump back from the Shade, I… easily slipped backward to have a room for gracefully swinging my staff. And it was not "just one Shade", it was "vicious unnatural creature that unexpectedly appeared from nothing". Hawke said dramatically, throwing her hands up, what apparently was supposed to illustrate the Shade's sudden attack.<p>

She and the dwarf often discussed recent events, formally to "develop an official version for the public", but in fact trying to 'out bullshit each other' as the pirate called it. At first Fenris considered it pathetic self-flattery, then as sarcastic match of verbal skills and irony, because everyone knew that Varric would exaggerate things in his stories anyway. But now he came to realize the deeper purpose of those storytelling jokes – it was the way for every member of the group to criticize Hawke's battle tactics, point out her or anyone other's mistakes and make suggestions. Completely ridiculous and unacceptable in any serious organization method, of course, but Fenris had to admit, it worked for that small group of very independent and proud people. He witnessed how Hawke and Isabela drew up strategy of dealing with traps this way and quite effectively.

"And of course you've slaughtered it with just a single spell?" Varric suggested jokingly and Hawke nodded with serious face.

"Sure. And don't forget gracefully. Have we covered it all?"

"You forgot an Arcane Horror. Is it going to be gracefully burned or gracefully smashed?"

"Hmmm… Oh, I know! It's kind of mage, yeah? So we'll have Fenris glaring and scowling at it until the poor creature runs into the corner and bursts into tears. We're hitting two templars with one spell here: first, it'll show how scary our elf is, and second, it'll subtly praise my own bravery. Because I manage to endure his scowling and glaring without fear on daily basis."

So she wanted a fight. Fine, it's not like he had anything better to do than to kick at rocks on the road.

"Very well, but what will happen with the Arcane Horror after that?" Varric was speaking to Hawke, but the elf caught his curious glance.

"Considering a blood mage and an abomination which we already have in our company, I suggest Hawke to coddle the monster and recruit it." Fenris said with faked nonchalance. Hawke blinked at him in surprise and suddenly laughed.

"Well, alright, you got me there." She smiled broadly, looking up at him. "Do you have any other suggestions? I'm considering a Darkspawn Emissary. "

The most maddening thing about her was that while she stated her opinions rather too openly, Fenris still didn't know what to expect from her next minute. She never tried to play mysterious – or just never bothered to – but she could start a furious fight over the brief random comment, make idiotic faces in answer of serious accusations or laugh and encourage an open sarcasm in her own address. It didn't fit with any experience he had with mages or leaders in whole.

But this company felt strangely right at the moment. Probably because Hawke took him seriously. Not at once she ignored him, ordered to shut up or tried to soothe him with diplomatic nonsense. No, she would hear out his arguments and answer every single of them. For the first time in his life – at least in part that he remembered – his opinions actually mattered and the fact that he could speak up his mind to a mage was doubly satisfying.

Still, he had one question to her and he was waiting for an appropriate moment to ask it.

He got the opportunity in the one cloudy morning. Ironically, Fenris, who lived in Hightown, was first in the Hanged Man, waiting for the others. Hawke came in next, yawning and blinking sleepily. She sized him up from under half-closed eyelids and muttered grievingly.

"Oh, wonderful. Just the bundle of joy I needed to cheer up this morning."

This time Fenris didn't take part in their usual exchange of courtesies. He straightened up – he reminded himself to draw up in her presence, because he once accused her in being as reckless as every other mage and got "Well, but you're such a special snowflake – humpbacked elf!" as retort.

"Hawke." He said slowly "We're not getting along well."

Hawke froze in the middle of yawn, then closed her mouth and finally fully opened her eyes.

"But why? You keep your observation skills just as sharp as your sword. Nothing gets past you. See, I can praise you all day!"

He knew her well enough to take that as sarcastic agreement and continued.

"Then why do you take me with you all the time? You are not petty enough to care so much about coins that I should work off."

Hawke stared at him for a few seconds and sighed.

"Honestly?" She scratched her head and shrugged with lopsided grin "I need a capable warrior and don't want to put my brother in danger. This whole mess with the templars is just my problem and he doesn't have to risk himself for me. If something happens to me, he would take care of mother. Of course, there is also Aveline, but… She's perfect for taking stand and protecting position till the last breath, but my combat style is more about…"

"Swooping out of nowhere and storming across the battlefield before enemies could figure out it's not a volcanic eruption?"

"Well, yeah, sort of, though I was going to say "Attack is the best form of defense". And besides, you're just better warrior than Carver. But, oh, don't take it as flattery; I could say it about probably half of Ferelden army."

Fenris nodded, suppressing a smirk. Such a peculiar sort of pride. She was so concerned to not let him think even for a minute that she wanted to make a good impression. It was almost tempting to pretend to be flattered just to see how she would panic.

"It… you're not offended or something?" Hawke asked warily, titling her head to the side.

"What? That you concerned about your own brother's well-being more than for mine? I'm wounded, but I'll try to live it through."

She chuckled softly, then glanced across the room.

"Andraste's fuzzy whiskers, where are our rogues? How about we go and pretend that I want to set the tavern on fire and you're trying to stop me? I bet _that_ should wake them up."

Stupidly idealistic, but not vile. Proud to no end, but not supercilious. Somewhat trustful, but not blind. Young, but not incompetent. He couldn't say he truly understood her even for a second, but he was quite sure that if she wanted to get rid of him, it wouldn't be a silent stab in the back. No, he'd expect rather loud and sarcastic notification and a finger, poked at his nose. It was more than he usually had to count on.

* * *

><p>"But you do frolic?" Varic confirmed jokingly and the young dalish nodded with adorable solemnity.<p>

"Of course we do! We wouldn't be elves, otherwise."

"Hold it! Fenris. You are no elf!"

Oh shit, Varric thought tiredly. Why now? The-word-that-must-not-be-said-around-Hawke-and-Fenris hadn't been used!

"So you too keep your observation skills just as sharp as your sword." The elf just raised his eyebrow, not turning his head to the mage.

"But she doesn't have a sword..." Merrill gave the dwarf puzzled look "Oh, wait… sarcasm, right?"

"Right, Daisy. You're getting good in recognizing it."

"You don't frolic, do you?" Hawke asked insolently "And our… expert in elven culture and history says it's an indispensable condition."

"She means me, yes? Did I say something wrong?" The dalish whispered in the Varric's ear cautiously

"No, everything's good. It's called a verbal sparring. But if you try to get involved, it can become a verbal assassination. So just don't listen to them."

"Then I should probably leave to frolic next time you are cornered with four giant spiders."

"I wouldn't get myself cornered, if I hadn't needed to find an angle from where I could throw a fireball without setting your ass on fire."

"I didn't realize I'm massive enough to occupy such an enormous amount of space. I shall endeavor to exist within a more appropriate extent."

"You should endeavor to exist somewhere not in the center of enemy's group at least until I cast the first spell."

* * *

><p>There had to be a diligently hidden, but mutual respect. Because even if the elf second-guessed Hawke's every move, he still accepted her decisions. Because Hawke actually bothered to argue with him over abstract matters. Both short-tempered, proud and with the same degree of sarcasm. Different enough to never completely understand, but also too stubborn to give up. No shit, it could…<p>

"Varric! Did that moody grumbler bite you?"

"What?" Varric looked up at Hawke, who laughed, walked to his table and sat next to him.

"You're brooooding! What's up?"

"Probably going to lose 5 sovereigns to Isabela."

"Huh, at least you're not alone. You know, she said she once paid for the night in the brothel and in the last hour gambled all her money back!"

* * *

><p><em>AN I can totally see my Hawke and Isabela singing "Livin' la vida loca" like Donkey and Puss'n'Boots from Shrek 2._


	3. What your eyes can do

_A/N: Thanks for feedback, I'd love to hear more and thanks again _to __ _Scarletstar20_ for beta-reading:)___  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>If your body matches what your eyes can do, you'd probably move right through me on my way to you<br>**

There was that heavy and piercing sensation on the back of my neck. Fenris is making his weekly "check up for any signs of demonic possession". Ugh, Maker's sniff, this guy can drill holes in the walls with his gaze.

"Oh Maker, no! Something's happening with me, I can't control it! I'm becoming an abomination, help me! Aaaaaaaaa... Chooo! Oh, that was just a sneeze. Sorry."

The elf snorted irritatingly, but the staring ended. I smirked.

"Maker bless you." Anders said pleasantly, grinning and winking at me. "But that sneeze was pretty convincing. Are you really sick?"

"Well, I did catch a little cold." I admitted "Drafts in the Gamlen's hovel are terrible and I always toss off the sheets in my sleep."

He frowned and put up his hand, casting a spell on me. "Better now?"

I sniffed and blinked, listening to myself.

"Yeah, I think it's completely gone! Thank you, Anders."

"It was my pleasure. Why didn't you ask earlier?"

"Um… Didn't want to bother you with such nonsense."

"You can bother me with any thing at any time. But as much as I enjoy taking care of you, I wonder why you never use healing magic yourself."

"That's not a mystery. I plainly suck at it. I'm more of a burning and throwing things around kind of mage."

"I can teach you, if you want."

"What? I don't think it's a good idea. I can't heal to save my life!... Ugh, that sounded lame, but you get the point. "

"You just never had a competent teacher. And I can certainly use your help in my clinic."

"Well, alright, sounds like a deal. But don't start hitting your head against the wall when I mess something up."

* * *

><p>I'd like to put a label on Fenris once and for all and stop worrying. Anders had no problems with it. "maniac", "monster", "beast", "close-minded" have raining down on him since their first meeting. Considering him as a blind ignoramus would make it easy to brush aside all his arguments. Problem is - he does have arguments, and they are reasonable and validated, even if he makes harsh extremist conclusions based on them. Even if only judging by well-composed logical chains, he is smart. And he can be observant and rational when he cares enough to show it. And his dry sarcasm. How can he have such sharp sense of humor and still throw pretentious accusations all around? Ugh, that elf. <em>That<em> elf!

"Fenris" I asked pointedly loudly and heedfully, giving the best innocent look I could master "Are you alright?"

"I'm perfectly fine." He cocked his eyebrow, slightly turning his head to me. I continued to imitate Merrill.

"Maybe you're feeling a little sick?"

"No."

"Then you probably forget to clean your ears this morning?"

"Am I supposed to believe there's some acceptable purpose of those questions?"

"I've been arguing with Knight-Captain Templar about oppression of mages and _you haven't said a word_. I assume you had a short-term deafness?"

Fenris suddenly stopped on his tracks and stared at me seriously and intently.

"No. I was thinking about your words… You're right. I was such a fool. Without wonders that magic brings, the world would be a hollow place. Mages should be free."

I opened my mouth, then closed it, feeling my right eye twitching. Fenris examined me for a moment, then turned to Varric, who was walking behind us, and held out his hand.

"She's speechless. My money, dwarf."

It took me a couple of seconds to realize what's going on.

"You made a bet on me? You bastards!"

"I was expecting more from you, Hawke" Varric muttered, handing coins over to the elf. I huffed. Sure, the set up was obvious, I just wasn't expecting anything like that from Fenris!

"Oh, you're going to get it! My revenge will be… unspeakable! You will hide under your beds and quiver in terror!"

"Does that mean we can go home now?" The elf smirked, as we continued walking.

"No, quiver on your own time."

"Then I'm not convinced."

"You can shut up any time now."

"Ladies first."

"One should not talk in such a manner with someone with raised heels if one is barefoot himself."

"Threats. Typical from a mage."

"It seems you're getting along finally" Varric stated cheerfully "You sound just like old married couple."

* * *

><p>Javaris waited at the foot of the stairs with gloomy qunari all around. They clearly weren't feeling hospitable. Oh shit, why do I need to be here? I made my part of job, why I must deal with those guys too? I don't want to catch glimpses of qunari culture, I just want my money!<p>

Javaris saw me coming up to him – very reluctantly though – and gleefully declared to the one of qunari

"Ah, my right hand arrives! Summon your Arishok – the bargain is done!"

"Your right hand? I'm not so short-limbed, chubby and hairy. Keep your titles to yourself, please." I whispered coldly. The dwarf snorted.

"About time you showed. I've been here for hours."

For hours? Alright, the dwarf has the nerve, I'll give him that. If I had been forced to stand there under the qunari stares, I would have had a mental breakdown in the half an hour.

Then the Arishok appeared and I suddenly remembered how mother used to scare me with promises that the big angry qunari will come and gore me if I didn't eat my porridge.

Andraste's flaming nostrils, that's exactly what I imagined those scary qunari would look like.

The Arishok sat down on some weird balk with monster's heads craved out on the both ends. He put his gigantic sharp-clawed hands on his knees and stared at us, looking menacing, disgusted and bored at the same time.

The silence started to become awkward. Javaris probably was gathering his wits or wanted me to say something, but hah, no, dwarf, you started it and you handle this guy, and I don't care how you…

"Arishokost. Maraas shokra." The respectful, but confident gravelly voice said from somewhere to my right. "Anaan esaam Qun."

I don't know who was more surprised at Fenris' greeting: the Arishok or me. Probably me, because the Arishok was first to speak

"The Qun? From an elf? The madness of this… place."

You said it, bro! What in the Void was that?

"Tell me that helped." I whispered tensely to Fenris out of the corner of my mouth. "Because if you just called his mother a hornless cow, I'm not defending your tattooed ass!"

"We shall see." Fenris looked at me calmly and I suppressed a sigh. Very reassuring. Javaris finally started to talk

"Well, yes, that said, I am here to report that your hated Tal-Vashoth have been felled one and all. Right?" He looked up at me and I nodded quickly "Yes, they were. So, I'm ready to open negotiations. For the explosive powder. As we agreed."

The Arishok shifted on his seat, frowned with even more disgust and said curtly

"No."

What? No? Just no? What the…

"He's not getting it. Make your chatty elf say something." Javaris muttered to me. I barely managed to keep myself from elbowing Fenris at the side. I whispered through the gritted teeth.

"Do something, I don't care, but if he kills us, I'm fireballing you."

Fenris didn't condescend to even glance at me. Well, at least he bothered to speak in common this time.

"Qunari do not abandon a debt. I humbly request the clarification from the Arishok."

"I have a growing lack of disgust for you." The arishok stated, examining the elf.

And I have a growing lack of understanding what's going on here. Was it a good sign?

"The dwarf imagined the deal for gaatlok. He invented a task to prove his worth, when he has none." The Arishok explained.

"Then we wrongly inserted ourselves in your affairs. Would you have us kill this dwarf?"

"Wait. What now?" Javaris looked up at me.

Yeah, come again, Fenris? I thought you're homicidal only about mages, have you got a second specialization?

"If you faced Tal-Vashoth, he is not worthy of dying to you. As he was not worthy of dying to them."

What? Not worthy of dying?.. What the bullshit? You mean, if he attacks you now, you won't kill him because he's not worthy of dying? You don't make any sense!

"But you… you keep good company."

Did he just tell Fenris that I'm a good company? I stifled the nervous chuckle.

"Let him live. And leave."

Wait, leave? What about my coin? Those Tal-Vashoth were a bunch of tough bastards to take down!

"He had big plans for your recipe." I started warily, glancing at Fenris. He looked at me from the corner of the eye and nodded ever so slightly. I folded my arms and continued more boldly "I was supposed to get a piece of that."

The Arishok's eyebrows knitted with an effect of clashed mountain chains.

"Dwarf, did your imaginary bargain make promises on my behalf?"

Javaris shuffled on his feet nervously, looking down.

"I… expected your wisdom to be more profitable."

All of qunari suddenly stood up, squaring their shoulders and casually drawing their weapons. My hand instinctively reached out for the staff, but Fenris made a short restraining gesture, not looking at me. I froze, then took a deep breath and slowly lowered my arm.

"Then you will pay, on my behalf." The Arishok rose up as well and demanded in a vicious growl. It took a three seconds for the dwarf to break down and I've gotta say, he lasted long for this situation.

"Sod it all, take your coin. Take whatever." Javaris finally burst out, turning to me and tossing his hands up. He took a purse from his belt and threw it to me; I barely managed to catch it.

"Horn-head oxmen and mongrel dog lords." The dwarf cursed, as he turned and walked away. "Suck your own powder and blow your head off. Sod it!"

"You will leave as well, human." The Arishok said, shifting his gaze from Javaris to me. "There's no more coin for you."

I nodded and tried not to run as I walk away. I took a deep breath when we came out of compound's gates and, Maker's breath, for the first time stinking smell of the Docks seemed just sweet.

I shook my head, coming to normal senses, and then stared at Fenris expectedly. But of course he looked imperturbably as if nothing happened.

"I didn't think you knew the Qun."

"You don't know many things about me."

Ugh. This guy is impossible. But, well, fair enough.

"Alright, let's put it in other way. I wasn't expecting this from you."

"Why not?"

"I don't know… lack of horns? Though you guys are certainly sharing the same brooding demeanor."

The elf shrugged shortly "I do not follow the Qun myself, but I'm familiar with it."

"And you didn't think it would be a nice idea to let me know when headed there? Give me some tips beforehand?"

He seemed to be taken aback. "I… didn't think you would listen to my advice."

"Huh? I'm listening to all your rants about magic, why wouldn't I listen to something actually useful?"

He looked at me with the scrutiny, though this time it wasn't a searching for any signs of corruption gaze, more like curious and cautious _"Can I believe in this?"_

"That remains to be seen." He said finally and I rolled my eyes.

"You just… Ugh, but you know what? You're totally losing your Champion of Scowl's title to this guy. You can't beat his "No".

I could swear there was a ghost of a smile for a split second.

* * *

><p>"Why are you watching me like that?" Fenris growled from behind my back, and when he <em>starts<em> conversation with growling, you know it's not gonna end pretty.

"You have vallaslin. The same markings that the Dalish have."

The same? You've got to be kidding me, girl. Varric told you his story, why are you bringing this up? Jeez, Merrill, you don't have a single fiber of tact in your whole body, don't you? Even I don't go there.

"Yours are not made of lyrium." Fenris stated flatly.

"No, they're made of blood. Our blood. That's what vallaslin means: blood writing. It's a mark of adulthood."

Comparing your symbolic fancy tattoos to his brands, the constant reminder of slavery? What's next? Tell Anders that Tranquility mark looks pretty and he should get one on his forehead? And after that you wonder why you've never had friends.

"Hey, Merrill!" I cut in with a cheerful smile, turning to her and stepping in her path. Fenris gave me a long look from under raised eyebrow, but walked past us without a word."I've wanted to ask you for a long time. What kind of demon it was? You know, the one you made a deal with. Oh, I'm sorry, I meant "the spirit". So, it was spirit of Ignorance or spirit of Importunity?"

Merrill blinked at me with her large, uncomprehending eyes and pouted "Did I say something wrong?"

I glanced back to make sure the elf was far enough to not hear me and said quietly "He doesn't like to talk about those markings. Leave him be."

"Are you the only one who allowed to pester me?" Fenris asked me with a hint of amusement in his voice a few minutes after I took the lead.

"Of course not. Have I ever stopped Anders from that? If she confronted you about the magic, I would support her…"

"I wonder how long it would take for "blood magic" or "demons" themes to come up."

"That's not the point. The point is, it's alright to wrangle about something that one can choose for himself. Like ridiculously tight pants or constant grumping. But you didn't receive your markings by choice."

There was long pause and I thought we're done for now, but he spoke up again

"We have to bear the consequences of what we are regardless of who have made us so." He said inexpressively and not looking at me.

Oh, you're going to bring up the responsibility for magic again, aren't you?

"The cured werewolf we've encountered on the Wounded Coast… Do you truly believe it was right to defend him against the dalish? Her claims were just."

The poor guy, who killed an innocent, because he was cursed to be a werewolf until my heroic cousin broke the spell? What, fights about magic are getting boring recently? Or you're gonna contradict me just on general principal?

"Of course I believe so! His very nature was twisted and he hasn't even realized what was wrong with him. He tries to live normally now and, shit yeah, he deserved this."

He finally looked at me, his intent and searching eyes fixing on me, so I barely kept myself from backing away because of tension.

"The fact that the beast knew nothing but the rage didn't lessen suffering of his victims."

"So what, let's just kill him and deprive him of any chance to become something else? It wasn't his fault, he…"

Then it finally clicked together. He wasn't talking about a werewolf, he was talking…

The magister wouldn't create a living weapon only for protection. Fenris probably had more blood on his hands than the whole werewolf's pack.

He read that realization in my widened eyes and quickly turned away, mending his pace and crouching down even more than usually. I took a deep breath, swallowed and caught up with him. He shot a guarded fast look at me, but I kept silent, just walking by his side. I heard how he quietly breathed out seconds later and bit my lip. I didn't know what to say, but he would take anything as pity now anyway. Everything that I could give was acceptance, for what it's worth.

People usually break into self-pitying misery under such weight or blindly seek atonement, even if it formal, or just forget about it, erasing it from conscience. Clearly Fenris realized that there never would be a true forgiveness and I couldn't sugar coat it as well. He also didn't forget anything, constantly beating himself up, but still managed to give cocky attitude to others. This combination of bitterness, self-doubt, wry humor and edgy pride, all keeping together only by sheer willpower… You're such an unbelievable mess, elf, and I'm probably not making it easier for you, yeah?

* * *

><p>"Agreggio Pavali. There are six bottles in the cellar. Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed."<p>

I stood in the doorway, folding my arms and uneasily eying Fenris. I dropped by his mansion on my way from Aveline's post to tell about changing plans for tomorrow and found him somewhat drunk and apparently in the mood to pour out unsettling facts of his past. It felt quite uncomfortable, partly because just attempt to comprehend the way those Tevinter bastards think gave me a headache, but more than that I was concerned that the elf would start to wreak his anger at me as the most of drunken men do. Even Gamlen tries it sometime, even though he knows I can toss him across the room with my finger click.

"So that's how you got used to scowl all the time? Sorry, but I don't think you're scary even with those grimaces." I shrugged absently, preparing to give a formal polite excuse and get the hell out of here.

The corner of his mouth twitched in a small grim grin."None of his guests were like you."

He took a long sip from the bottle, then suddenly swung it and threw it at the wall. I almost jumped at it, but the elf merely smirked and looked at me calmly

"It's good I can still take the pleasure in the small things."

You have a very wrong conception of pleasure, serah. But well, if he wants to walk on shattered glass in his bare feet, who am I to argue?

"You could have offered me a glass first, you know." I muttered, still eyeing red stains on the wall. Fenris shrugged.

"There's more if you're really interested."

Huh? I didn't expect him to take it seriously. Much lesser, that he would bother to actually offer me another bottle.

"Perish the thought." I waved my hand, thinking up the way to get myself out of this. "How else would you redecorate the walls?"

Then my jaw nearly landed somewhere in the Deep Roads, because Fenris laughed. It was short, quiet laugh, but it was genuine. I thought he could smile only when a mage dies and incapable of laughing at all! All the more laughing at himself!

Before I collected myself enough to come up with something more intelligent than "Ugh, wow", the elf sighed quietly and looked down.

"I've wanted to leave my past behind me. But it won't stay there." He took a few steps to the bench in front of fireplace and nodded at another one, as if inviting me to sit down. I did it only out of sheer astonishment, blinking and staring at him as disheveled owl, awakened in the middle of the day. "Tell me, have you never wanted to return to Ferelden?"

_Who are you and what did you do with Fenris?_

There was something different about the way he looked at me now. It took me almost a minute to figure out. For the first time there wasn't the grim expectation of me suddenly slapping him or spiting on his face.

"I have no home left to return to." I answered stiffly, but he didn't leave it

"The Blight is over. You could rebuild what you lost. Do you truly not want to?"

Why is he of all people asking me this? No one other displayed interest in how I felt about my troubles. Well, Varric interrogated me, but just for the sake of storytelling, asking me sometimes tactless questions about what I firstly thought about the ogre who killed my sister a minute later. Of course I laughed it off. But Fenris looked at me with a genuine interest and I knew he wouldn't bother to ask just out of politeness.

"My mother came from Kirkwall. Our heritage is here." Mother is too old for dragging her across the sea again and Carver is not good in adapting to new places too.

"Having a place to put down roots. I understand." Fenris nodded thoughtfully. Then he looked away, letting a strand of his hair hide his eyes, and said quietly with a sigh more implied than actually let out. "Still, to have the option… must be gratifying."

Of coooourse! That's why he's asking me! It's one of the few things we're actually had in common – the escape from the homeland. We both ran away, though for a different reasons.

"You've been on the run for a long time, then?" I asked warily.

"Three years now. Danarius has a way of finding me – perhaps it is the markings?"

Usually I'd put a remark about "maybe it's ridiculously noticeable armor or sour trail of broodiness", but not in this case. I'm pretty sure it _is_ the markings. After spending some time around him, I could practically feel them too, not a real sensation, more like just awareness of his presence nearby. It was weird at first, but not disturbing or obtrusive. Actually it was easier to get used to this than to Isabela's cloud of heavy aroma.

"Whatever the means, it never takes him long to follow. This is the first time I've given him reason to pause. I suppose there are advantages in numbers."

"Haven't you sought help before?" I asked, quirking my eyebrow. Sure, he's not a "people person", but he puts up even with me after all.

"Hirelings, when I could steal the coin. Never anyone of substance – until you. Danarius will not give up, however. I await his return."

"Do the magisters in Tevinter really not have anything more thrilling to do? Like, consorting with demons or ruling the Imperium?"

"It's the matter of pride for him. And even if he does give up, I'll go to him. I will not live with a wolf at my back."

I nodded. He's amazingly reasonable today. "Sounds like the right idea to me."

"If it comes to that. I doubt it will."

I frowned, studying him. "You could track that sick bastard down, I assume."

"I imagine he has returned to Minrathous, though I dare not to go near the city while he's alive. No, it is better to wait for him to leave his fortress. Fight from a fortified position. I do not expect your help when that day comes, but I would not turn it aside."

"Oh, jeez, quit the pretending." I waved a hand at him with a lopsided grin "You _know_ I always kill slavers when I have a chance. But if you expecting to have me around at this time, I assume you're staying in Kirkwall?"

"I haven't decided. For now it's as good as any other place. I would return to Seheron if I could, but… there is no life for me there."

As Varric would say, I sense the story here.

"Is that where you're from?"

"So I've been told." He answered curtly.

"Were you very young when you left, then?"

"Perhaps."

Alright, don't push it; he's falling into his "qunari laconism" mode again.

"Maybe it's just me, but it sounds like you want to stick around." I smiled to ease the mood.

"I could see myself staying – for the right reasons." He said slowly, eyeing me intensely, but without usual hostility. Strangely, it felt more unsettling this way. Probably because I couldn't figure out what was there now.

"Hey, isn't the Hanged Man's glorious ale the right enough reason for you? That was what sold this city for me!"

He smirked briefly, with equal parts of sarcastic disgust and amusement. It's funny how much he could express, lifting just one eyebrow and the corner of his mouth.

"I should thank you again for helping me with the hunters."

"Yeah, you should." I couldn't help myself, but Fenris continued without taking an offense. I guess he just got used to my constant snarking. I wonder what he was like before that ritual. Maybe without that prejudice we could have even liked each other?

"Had I known Anso would find me a woman so capable, I might have asked him to look sooner."

"You're such a gentleman when you're not an ass." I muttered, lifting up my usual sarcastic shields, and came up to my feet.

"Perhaps I'll practice my flattery for your next visit? With any luck I'll become better at it." He stood up too and smiled and… Maker's breath, for all bitterness and anger that is in him I couldn't imagine he could smile so…brightly? Warmly? I smiled back, walking past him to the entrance.

"Good luck then." I teased, looked back over the shoulder and received another smile, almost tripping over the threshold. It was like a sun, glinting through the cracked muddy window.

…Have you just compared Fenris to the sunshine and _not_ sarcastically? Andraste's painted toenails, are you delusional, girl?

Actually, delusion was probably a suitable answer, because we just… talked like normal people? Without bringing up magic, barking and glaring at each other? Really? And… "my next visit"? Is it an invitation? Also… "flattery"? What's going on here, huh?

* * *

><p><strong><em>Dear diary and every nosy bastard who likes to peep into my journal, I have a news to blow your mind. Fenris can laugh! No shit! And it wasn't "Hawke hit herself with her own spell" laugh or something. Well, he was a bit drunk, but not enough to not recognize me or to giggle uncontrollably. Though I hadn't got a chance to taste the wine. He threw the bottle at the wall. Another wonder, he hadn't aimed at me! I've gotta say, I like him drunk. Maybe I should add wine to his health potions? <em>**

**_/  
><em>**

_ Oh, how could you waste such rare chance? Shame on you! Now, let me teach you how you should act the next time!_

_"Perish the thought." Hawke purred seductively and rose to her feet in one smooth motion of a jungle cat. "Who would taste wine from the bottle, when there's so much more delicious… opportunity."_

_She approached him slowly, never taking her liquid-golden eyes from his emerald ones. He suddenly felt himself dazed and paralyzed, as though she had cast a spell on him. The very way she moved was meant to mesmerize, enchant, hold him. The way she walked, almost dancingly graceful, maddeningly swaying her hips, her perfect breasts bouncing lightly and silk wave of untamed raven locks showing off the noble paleness of her skin… _

_He shuddered, but couldn't make himself to step back, when her pouty cherry lips touched his with lightness of a feather. Her elegant fingers gently trailed features of his handsome face, from strong jaw to high, perfectly sculptured cheekbones. She kissed his bottom lip, applying more of gentle pressure with each second. His lips parted involuntarily and she caught his lip in her teeth teasingly like a cat that plays with a trembling scared bird she just hunted down. Her deft fingers caressed the line of his earlobe, her other hand resting on his strong, muscular chest against the rapidly beating heart. The heat of her touch rushed through his body, setting him on fire and leaving him burning, but yearning for more. When her soft, warm tongue licked his lip, his mouth opened like gates of defeated castle, helpless and ready to welcome the __conqueror…_

_Why is your stupid mabari trying to hump my leg? _

_/  
><em>

**_Because I ordered him to humiliate anyone, who reads my journal without my permission. Next time he'll piss on you. So stay out of my stuff, Isabela! And if you won't, I can show that nonsense you've wrote there to a certain someone and you'll get a nice greatsword in your skull. You know I would do it just to see him flipping his shit at someone other than me, so don't tempt me!_**


	4. My friend of mysery

_A/N Thank all of you again for the feedback, you guys awesome, and special gratitude to Scarletstar20 for beta-reading this chapter:)_

* * *

><p><strong>There's much more to life than what you see, My friend of misery<strong>

Isabela opened the chest and examined the content inside skeptically. Rusty spoons, moth-eaten scarf, moldy doll, pouch of pebbles, torn trousers… all to go to Hawke.

"Feeling generous today, dear Isabela?"

"Well, that's me. As I always say, I'm a helper."

_'…And this pretty shiny bracelet we'll keep for ourselves. Hawke can't appreciate a fine jewelry anyway, so… Wait, what's this…'_

"Hawke!" Isabela broke her internal dialog and turned to the mage, cheerfully waving her trophy.

"You said I bought a stupid hat last week? Well, look at this and think again!"

"Andraste's spiky hair rollers, what is that thing?"

"It's a hat. For mages!"

It was actually a conehead cowl, a terrible wrap of purple fabric similar to kind that you do with a towel after bath but made even more ridiculous with tassels, long dangling trinkets and fuzzy pom-pom. The unsightly configuration was capped off with an engraving of fanciful designs resting at the forehead.

Hawke snorted "For mages? It's enchanted? Jeez, who would crazy enough to enchant this horrible crap?"

"It looks like some kind of joke."Varric mused, examining the hat with eyes narrowed in mirth. "As if someone knew how stupid it looks and enchanted it to make power-crawling fools wear it anyway. What some people would put on for better bonuses..."

"I've never saw anything that looked so ridiculous." Hawke shook her head, then sized up Fenris, who kept silent all this time, and muttered,"Well, headgear at least."

"Will you ever shut up about my armor?" the elf growled

"Take it off. I bet that will make her shut up." Isabela purred, and both of them decidedly ignored her.

"Just after you shut up about magic. I mean, look at that, you have feathers at your metal gloves. Feathers! For what? To tickle poor bastards while you sticking your hand through their chests?"

_Now I just __**have**__ to write something dirty about him getting revenge for all her mockery with those feathers in her journal_, Isabela sighed inwardly. _The girl just asks for it._

"Oh, sure it's easy for you to say. You wear only boring stuff." Isabela interrupted, nodding at Hawke's grey battle tunic that, as she said, was from her father's legacy. Actually, it looked stylish on the mage, complementing her slender frame with simple strict design, but also adding some spice with wide red belt and spiky metal shoulder-pad. "You don't have the guts to put on something really… unusual."

The mage lowered her head and narrowed her eyes in the manner that Isabela called "diving hawk".

"No one says that Hawke doesn't have guts."

"Huh, Prove it." The pirate leaned forward, holding the hat out for Hawke."Wear it for the rest of the day. I dare you."

The mage looked her over with narrowed determined eyes.

"There are men who struggle against destiny, only to have it swallow them whole." Hawke walked up to the pirate and snatched the cowl out of her hands, "and there are men who embrace destiny…" she yanked the cowl over her head and stuck out her jaw with deliberate arrogance "and do not show their fear. That's how I roll."

She snapped her fingers, "Varric, write it down, I want it the epigraph in my biography."

"A man walks down the street in that hat, people know he's not afraid of anything." Varric grinned broadly.

"Damn straight! I… Ouch!" the big trinket slipped down from Hawke's forehead and hit her at the nose. Hawke cursed and lifted it back up. "Alright, now that it's absolutely clear who is the boss here, let us move on."

"Sure. And now we no longer need worry about losing our fearless leader."

"I'm Ferelden Tower of Magi! Got it? I should tell this one to Anders."

"She was so bright that she had to wear a lampshade." Varric declared, dramatically waving his hand.

"Where are we heading?" Isabela asked, keeping herself from smirking at Hawke's efforts to keep her trinket from falling down.

"Blooming Rose. Now when I'm this dashing, I expect to get everyone for free."

"Oh, but where I'm supposed to go when you'll bankrupt them?"

Hawke smirked and then explained her real plans "I want to tell Jethann about Ninette's death. He seemed to really care for her."

"How kind of you. Or maybe you want to comfort him later?" Isabela grinned wickedly and Hawke snorted

"What? No! Though he is interesting for an elf…"

"Interesting?"

"Well, you know, redhead and those large sky-before-the-storm deep-blue eyes, not usual elven green."

"I thought you prefer green. What was that about a guy who broke your heart or something?"

"Pffft, that one? Well, I'm not sure getting completely wasted and throwing up on my boots counts as heartbreak."

"Hah, happens to everyone, so yeah. You like redheads?"

"Hit on Aveline for the whole year."

"Heh. Second place?"

"Brunettes."

"Oh, poor blond Anders."

"Well, he has another advantage. Stubble."

"You like it? Really?"

"I guess it's because of my dad. Associates with manliness or something."

"You like redhead and manly. Aveline is meant to be your true love."

"Heh. Interesting possibility but I expect my true love to be less… lawful."

Something in Hawke's tone made Isabela turn and raise her eyebrows.

"You believe in true love? Really?"

The mage sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I know, I don't look like the type, but you can't deny it if you spent your whole life around it. You just haven't seen my parents together. My mother gave up her rich sheltered life for constant hiding from templars, and father left his adventures of the free, reckless mercenary. We had really tough times, we were on the run for my whole life, but hey, it was worth it. We were happy."

"But then why you are not… hmmm, how should I put it… saving yourself for… eh, 'the one?"

"Jeez no! That's the point – this shit is real. Once you get into it, there's no turning back. You're ready to change your life completely, you sacrifice your ego, lifestyle, you have to put up with your beloved's flaws, past, bad habits. There are no more decisions made only for yourself, because you share everything, live for each other. In short, a whole ton of responsibility. And you don't even get to look at anyone else. So I want to have my fun before I'm doomed." Hawke gave a lopsided grin.

"Maybe it's not so dire. Seems your father was pretty cunning guy, perhaps he had his fun without anyone being the wiser, eh?"

"Isabela." Hawke stopped abruptly and turned to the pirate, her voice pointedly calm and controlled, but her eyes wild."You do not want to get a slap from a force mage."

_Oh, we're so touchy. Daddy's little girl. Oh alright, be that way._

"I don't want be slapped by anyone. Unless it's foreplay."

* * *

><p>This guy was the most creepy, weird, twisted and incoherent creature I've ever met, and I made a deal with legendary Witch of the Wilds <em>and <em>looked eye to hollow eye socket of Revenant.

The chained qunari mage loomed, silent as the grave. When I tried talk to him, he only growled. He followed me, step after step, without hesitation; without any emotion, not trying to fight or run. He just towered, indifferent, emotionless, never taking his heavy gaze from me.

It was just plain scary.

More importantly, he was getting on my nerves. It was distracting and put me off balance, and that stupid trinket kept falling down from my forehead…

Eventually, I managed to rush headlong into a trap. Flamethrowers in the opposite walls burst out behind my back. I leaped forward, Varric was far enough to avoid the blaze and Isabela somersaulted away. Fenris, caught in the middle, ran through it with long chain of curses in Tevinter. The qunari mage just kept walking, following me through the flames, not trying to escape, not hesitating, in his slow, deliberate manner. He didn't even flinch!

Man, it's wrong, it's just so wrong. It's unnatural, it's against all common sense and instincts, it's weird, no one should act this way, no one should deny themselves so blindly and pointlessly and…

"Hey, hey, elf, _calm down_!" Varric shouted worryingly.

I looked away from Ketojan and saw Fenris, crossing the distance between us with wide steps and determined gaze fixed on my face.

I backed away, hit the wall with my shoulder-blades and swallowed hard.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't want to… Fenris, don't!..."he stopped, hovering over me, and raised his hand. I pulled my head into my shoulders and prepared to throw him away with a spell. With one swift finger, and without touching me, he lifted the trinket up, something clicked and it mercifully stopped dangling. I stared at him, my mouth opened stupidly.

"And here I hoped to paw over you while I dragged you away. Spoilsport."Isabela muttered with disappointment, appearing behind Fenris's back. Varric lowered his crossbow with chuckle. Fenris threw a cold gaze at the pirate before walking away. I poked the trinket at my forehead carefully, but it seemed to be fastened properly.

"Erm, thanks?"

"How did you know that, elf?" Varric asked curiously.

"It's a common fashion in Tevinter." Fenris answered flatly

"Really?" I shook my head, trying to make the trinket fall again, but it was apparently locked in place. "Jeez, poor bastards… I mean, can you imagine it? The boy walks down the street and all other kids laugh and scream at him "Dunce cap! Fool! Looser!" And of course that little mage cries and makes deals with demons to prove everyone that he's cool. Like, you know, "I'll show them! I'll show 'em all!"

"This is why I always say that hats are serious business." Isabela nodded, readjusting her kerchief.

"As I am in awe of your endless wisdom, Isabela, I suggest you to go first now. And check for the traps while you're on that, please."

"You such a slave driver." The pirate sighed crossly, but obeyed.

Actually, I hoped that the qunari would follow her now if she were leader, but no, he has his priorities straight. A sudden chill ran down my spine. Will he stop following me when we leave the town? How will I force him if he won't? Jeez, what did I get myself into?...

I sighed, caught up with the elf and coughed. "Fenris, mmm… Sorry for that trap."

He raised eyebrow and said with short smirk, but without rancor "I always thought if you ever set me on fire, it would be by your own fireball."

"Yeah, I know, embarrassing. Can we just forget it and start the count over?"

"Consider it so." He nodded with calm dignity. I chuckled, then cleared my throat

"When we first saw this qunari, you called him… errr… Sara-something?"

"Saarebas. It's qunari word for a mage. Means "dangerous thing".

"Nice."

"It was not my idea this time."

"Yeah, I know, I just… Can you tell me more about them? I mean, what's wrong with him, he just so creepy and strange and… Why does he act like… this?"

Fenris frowned, glancing back at the qunari.

"I'm afraid I can't help you with it. I've never interacted with Saarebas myself. I know only that they are always chained and kept under constant control by Arvaarad. I guess it makes following the lead their primary model of behaving. This mage seems indifferent to our struggles, even with his freedom as the prize."

"Jeez, that's just… I don't like qunari, it's official. I mean, they're like another form of life. I can understand what demons want even if they're so different from us. But those guys… "

"They strive for certainty in their lives." He looked away and said slowly with strange hollowness in the voice, but then shook his head abruptly and muttered with usual sarcasm, "I can understand your confusion since your purpose is completely opposite from that."

I scoffed and made face at him, but continued walking by his side. Probably because he knew qunari I felt less nervous around him.

* * *

><p>"They get the idea, qunari… Ketojan… whatever! Calm yourself!"<p>

He growled, lowered his hands and fire around him died out. I breathed out and sized him up suspiciously

"You did what I said. Did I hit the right phrase or something?"

And again he only growled in answer. Ugh, shit.

"He may not know, himself." Fenris said thoughtfully.

Jeez, I'm trying to understand how to deal with the completely messed up guy, who randomly explodes, and you are not helping, elf!

"You can't gesture, or stomp your feet twice if you understand or _something_?"

He growled again. Does he even understand what I say?

"I bet all he wants is to go chasing after thrown sticks. And someone to rub his belly." Isabela almost purred.

Nope, my mabari has more personality, independence and willfulness. And he's way easier to communicate with!

"Did you react because your lead was threatened?"

Again just another grunt as answer. Fenris spoke up with the same calm hollowness as earlier

"I know that kind of blind instinct. It is hard to judge how much control he has."

What do you mean, you know that kind of blind instinct? You're snarking and second-guessing just about everything around and… Oh jeez, no…

Scattered pieces suddenly clicked together. I looked at Fenris: always stooped over, always with slightly bent knees, 'brooding and moping' as Varric called it, and instead saw pictures, which were everywhere in Kirkwall and which I considered as artistic exaggeration – crouching white silhouette of a slave with face hidden in his hands in woe. I looked at this Ketojan, collared, in chains, blindly following me, in spite of pain, without any intention to decide for himself and…

_"...He kept me on a leash like a qunari mage._"

I'm sorry, Maker's breath, I'm so sorry…

It's not that I didn't know all of this before, it's just that I never really sunk in. Of course, I always felt bad for Fenris. If I hadn't known he was a slave once, I would just break his nose and walk away when he started ranting about my magic. I couldn't think that it was actually worse before, because he's already messed up beyond my experience. My parents rarely even shouted at me, not to speak of any severe compulsion. Slavery was an abstract term, something very terrible, wrong and horrific, but it existed only somewhere very far, far away and it was meant without saying that all slaves wanted to break free. But now I looked at this qunari and if Fenris ever was even slightly like him…

The difference between those two, the leap he had to make to become who he is now… it's just effing unbelievable. Bad social skills and defensiveness…It's amazing that he functions at all. He managed to pull himself out from this hollow, blind, lifeless obedience and what do I do? I mock his armor and crouched back. He struggles out of swamp, literally blind and without any support and I criticize his lack of grace.

I have never felt like so totally petty shit. Ever.

"Let us… move on."I said, trying to sound calm. "And you… Ketojan, please, try not to explode."

* * *

><p>Hawke sat in a dark corner of the Hanged Man, slumped over her mug. If it wasn't for that cowl, Fenris wouldn't recognize her.<p>

It must be a real shock for her: first seeing another mage in chains, and then watching him die in his own fire.

It was clear she thought it happened because of her, that much was certain. She had not looked away from the fire until the flames died out over Saarebas's half-burned corpse. Trembling, she had backed away from the ashes, and then was unfamiliarly silent and grim. It didn't suit her, and more importantly she didn't deserve feelings of guilt over how she had decided to treat him.

Hawke made no secret of the fact that she didn't like qunari and yet, she fought a whole company of mercenaries over the body of one of their dead and then told the Viscount that his son had a right to choose his own friends.

She didn't understand the Qun, but there was no wonder. Hawke was the essence of freedom and how, Fenris already knew, freedom could be anything but certainty.

He took a seat next to her and she raised her eyes to give him an unusually exhausted and haunted look.

"Please, can we put off your criticism and second-guessing for today at least? I had the impression that you wouldn't beat a dead horse."

"It wasn't your fault." He said quietly.

"I… I just feel as if I denied his choice. You know, that I should've just let them take him nicely and leave. It was what he wanted, but I thought he was forced and didn't let him, but he decided to die after that and… ugh…"

The sudden outburst of rambling died off and Fenris sighed deeply. It was like describing swimming for a bird.

"You couldn't deny his choice. For qunari, the only choice is existence."

She narrowed her eyes "Wait, you mean, even if I…"

"They would kill him anyway, because he could be corrupted. And then most likely attack us, because we interacted with the mage off the lead."

"Oh…" Hawke murmured, frowning."It's just so screwed up… It's like no matter what you say or do, it wouldn't change anything. What did he say? 'Certainty is a comfort.' Certainty in what exactly? That every day will be the copy of the last one? Without any growth, movement or change? Hmpf, how pointless is that?"

He didn't even try to explain to her that if there are no dreams or hope, there would be no disappointments. If there is only one acceptable choice, you don't question or doubt it.

A hawk wouldn't understand a fear of flying.

"It's not certainty." She said slowly, lost in her thoughts "It's chains. Every one of them is chained by the Qun, even the Arishok. He doesn't decide anything, he does what he must. If existence is their only choice, then all free qunari are dead."

She suddenly looked up at him, as if she had opened her eyes for the first time. It was like watching a bonfire flaring up from a little spark. It started in eyes that became bright and vivid, and then flashed into a broad smile and eventually lightened up the whole of her face. He felt himself smiling back and looked away.

"Thank you. I would have eaten myself up for days over it."

"I merely told you what I knew. You certainly have better things to concern yourself with." He scowled, attempting to look indifferent.

She snorted, that smile not wavering in the slightest. "I mean it. I owe you a drink. What do you want? Corff actually has good stuff if you know how to ask. Not as fancy as your Aggregio maybe, but still decent."

He shrugged "I don't care."

"No, that's not how gratitude works. You don't repay a kindness with just anything, it has to be something special. What's your favorite?"

"I don't have favorite."

"Umm… How is that?..."

"You think they make wine sampling for slaves in Tevinter?"

"Ugh, surely not, but you were free for three years and…"

"And I was on the run, hiding from hunters and saving every coin. You think I had time for this?"

"I see." She said slowly, eying him with uncertainty before she got a familiar look on his face. Fenris knew that look; after which she usually would say something like "_You, serah, are going to be saved._"

"I don't need your pity." He growled. She just raised her eyebrows and laughed

"Pity? I don't pity you! I'm actually almost envious."

He stared at her in disbelief and she explained, waving her hands enthusiastically.

"You have a whole world in front of you! All these awesome things just wait for you to discover them. It's exciting!"

"No. It's ridiculous." He gritted through clenched teeth, but she leaned forward stubbornly

"No, you're ridiculous. You live in your former's master mansion, wear armor the he gave you and even drink his favorite wine! Freedom is not only about not doing things you don't like, it also about doing the thing that you _do _like. Just because you want to! But then again...You don't like anything."

"And what would you have me to do? Go through the bazaar, trying everything that catches the eye, like a laughingstock for the crowd?"

"Jeez, sure, you have to maintain your perfect reputation." She shook her head with irritation "Alright, I can go with you and be the laughingstock. Nobody will notice you in gigantic shadow of my silliness. Just ask Carver."

"You?" He quirked his eyebrow, crossing his arms "Why would you do that?"

"'Cause it's fun! I mean, all those little things that we don't value when we trying them for the first time… It would be just awesome to try it again, savoring all nuances…"

"You are insane." He stated seriously. She grinned even wider.

"Well, it doesn't mean I'm wrong. Come on, why not?"

Why not? You can't just go and try everything you never had, it's childish, senseless and stupid, and everyone else already knows all those things… How did she make everything sound so simple? Why did she even care?..

"Enough of this inane mocking!" he sprang up and walked away as fast as he could without running.

"Andraste's fragrant armpits, for the first time I'm serious and you… We're not done! Do you hear me?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: I know, hats are not so hideous in DA2, but I still can't forget (and forgive!) all my cringing when I looked at my mage in DAO_._ Feel my pain!_


	5. It can be a tad hysterical

_A/N: Hey, thanks for the support, it's nice to know I'm not only one terrified with "helmets". I'm still on the therapy, but I'm getting better. _

_I have a silly habit to find out meaning of the stuff I've randomly came up with, so I googled name of my Hawke recently and decided it's a quiet ironic fit. _

_Many thanks again to Scarletstar20 for beta-reading._

* * *

><p><strong>Find a four leaf clover where you never saw a flower, She's habitually paradoxical, a parallel perpendicular<strong>

_Two days after the first meeting and four hours after a shouting match in the Gallows' courtyard _

"Lessi."

"Ingrid."

"Duncanina."

"What? Bullshit, Isabela!"

"No! It's a real name! I've met a girl with that name in Nevarra."

"Duncan is a Ferelden name and it does not have a feminine form. Besides, I just can't see how someone could think that he wants to name his baby Duncanina."

"Well, maybe he had a great mentor named Duncan, who died too early, and this someone decided to name his firstborn in honor of Duncan, but – ooops! - got the girl?"

"No way."

"Hah! Wanna make bet on what name the next Ferelden princess will have?"

"What is her name?" Fenris asked the dwarf quietly. Varric looked up, still grinning

"Ferelden princess? Well, there's still no heir in Ferelden, but I did hear that previous Commander of the Grey, who once recruited the new king, was named Duncan."

"What? No, not that. What is Hawke's name?"

"Oh, you still don't know Hawke's name?" of course, the dwarf had to say it out loud and two women immediately turned to them

"Sure he doesn't; He's too busy throwing accusations to ask! Don't tell him, people. He can stick with his own 'Viper'."

"Viper Hawke is a bit too much, don't you think?" Isabela smirked with fake concern.

Fenris turned away.

Fine. If she didn't want to tell him her name, he wouldn't bother to care about it.

"Why? It's a mysterious and unnatural predator, the personification of magic." Hawke waved her hands dramatically "Can you think of anything more unexpected, dangerous and creepy?"

"Spider Bear?" Varric suggested cheerfully and the mage laughed.

"Alright, hands down. I still have so much to learn from you, oh worldliest of storytellers."

* * *

><p><em>Five days after the first meeting and last slaver's attack <em>

"Hey, elf!"

Fenris turned around abruptly, instantly gripping the hilt of his sword. But it was just another Hightown merchant, Hawke's friend, from whom she bought runes.

"What is it?" he asked warily, stepping up to the dwarf. Worthy, he remembered.

"Some fishy guys were asking about you around Hightown. Foreigners. Haven't seen 'em since, but I thought you should know."

"Why are you telling me this?" the elf asked suspiciously. Dwarf shrugged

"You're Hawke's friend and she let folk know, if anyone tries to set you up, they'll have troubles with her. _personally_. Girl has a hell of a reputation among hirelings here."

"She warned the mercs to not trouble me?" Fenris blinked dumbly.

Worthy chuckled.

"She's a great lass. You're lucky to work with her, and you'd best stick with her. Maybe around her isn't the quietest place in Kirkwall; but if you'll get into trouble, you know you can always count on Hawke. When she left the Red Irons, several of the boys suggested going with her; but Hawke, she refused to entice people from her former allies. That's how true nobility shows, not in fancy clothes, I always say."

Fenris nodded, looking away awkwardly. It felt really uncomfortable to be called Hawke's "friend" and still not know her name.

* * *

><p><em>One and half week after the first meeting and about dozen mutual life-saving later<em>

"So, what is Hawke's name?" he asked nonchalantly, glancing at the pirate.

"Can I squeeze your butt if I tell you?" Isabela grinned wickedly.

"No." Fenris scowled, rolling up his eyes.

"Come on, just a little! You can't expect me to cross Hawke without any reward!"

"I happen to stick with payment systems that differ from the Blooming Rose's price list."

"You're _such_ a spoilsport." The pirate sighed, but then winked at him and said loudly enough for the viscount all the way on the other side of the city to hear, "If you really want to know, she has her name embroidered in her thongs."

Hawke turned round abruptly "What? How do you…"

"Oh, those old-fashioned nobles have their names and emblems embroidered in absolutely everything that could be skewered with a needle. And they put crests on everything else."

The mage pointed finger at the pirate and narrowed her eyes menacingly.

"Isabela, if you're not only marring my journal, but also leering over my underwear…"

"Of course not! What do you think I am, some kind of nosy, creepy pervert?"

"I'm putting explosive runes on my trunk." Hawke said dryly.

Isabela snorted and smiled innocently, but the mage squinted at them again.

"Wait, why you two were discussing my _thongs _in the first place?"

"He wanted to know your name" the rogue shrugged.

"Oh?" Hawke raised her eyebrows with taunting smirk "Why are you suddenly so persistently interested?"

"Two questions hardly can be considered as 'persistent interest'." Fenris muttered sourly, but women were already at their own conclusions.

"Ah, I bet he needs something to scream out in fantasies. He's probably associating you with hotness because of your fireballs. And "Oh, Hawke!" sounds too formal and don't suit the mood."

"Hmm, really. What would be a good name to cry out? How about 'Oh, Melisandre!'? Or 'Oh, Lyanna!'? Maybe 'Oh, Cersei!'…"

"Isabela is perfect for this. That's how I made my choice. That's also why I changed it from the common spelling. No one would drawl the second 'l' at the peak, right?"

* * *

><p><em>Two weeks after the first meeting and one day after taking the same side in argument about magic<em>

The only times when her smile was false were when the dwarf sent her to try and "be friends" with him. But it was clearly intended insincerity and each time she tried to come up with something even more ridiculous than before. He was actually curious how long she would be able to keep this up.

"You know, we actually do have things in common. My name has an elven origin. It's Gvalahamudriel, what means 'Someone with whom you'd better not mess around'."

"It's gibberish, not elven."

She just laughed. "You're from Tevinter and it's a language of Ferelden elves!"

"There's only one elven language."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I _am_ an elf."

"We haven't confirmed that. I still haven't seen you frolicking."

* * *

><p><em>Three weeks after the first meeting and one day before the death of Ketojan.<em>

"Alright. My name is Dazdraperma."

Fenris scoffed "And _that's_ the best you managed to come up with?"

"Really! When my father was still an adventurer, he had to make a deal with demon to save his life. And the price was to name his firstborn after a demon. It's supposed to lead me to the dark path."

"So that's why we always have to force our way through the most shady and dirty back streets?"

"Why don't you believe me? It's a sign of corruption! I thought you would be excited!"

"I can barely restrain my joy."

"Huh? What do you know about me? Maybe I'm broken inside and hide it behind a mask of humor and laugh?"

He turned to her and she fell out of step when she met his eyes.

"No." he said, trying to not sound bitterly "You know nothing of being broken. Praise the Maker for that. Some people never get the chance to be whole."

* * *

><p><em>Three and half weeks after the first meeting and five days after exchange of not-mocking and only slightly drunk smiles<em>

"So, listen up!" Hawke beamed at him mischievously, obviously preparing something special. "My first syllable is flying in the skies…"

"Maker's breath, sister, stop it! It's just Erica!" Her younger brother interrupted with an irritated groan.

'"Why do you always have to spoil my fun, Carver? It's not my fault that you don't have your own!" Hawke shouted out with sincere disappointment. She threw a grim look at the elf "Happy at last?"

Surprisingly, he felt that he maybe he would miss that silly game. A little.

"It doesn't feel as satisfying as one could expect" He said honestly, but she took it in the wrong way.

"I'm sorry I have such a boring name." She muttered and walked forward, not looking at him or at her brother.

* * *

><p><em>One month after the first meeting and two days before departure of Deep Roads expedition<em>

"So, what is the job?" Fenris asked, examining the small dark bar in the basement of one of the Hightown estates. He and Hawke were able to get here only with a several complicated paroles and barely avoided fight, because Hawke just can't say two sentences straight without adding a joke.

"It's for Aveline. This is an illegal bar of contraband elite wines. You know, the viscount raised customs duties recently, so stuff in majority of taverns don't get any better than the Hanged Man's ale. So places like this are kinda popping out of nowhere, like mushrooms after the rain. So our soon-to-be-Guard-Captain asked me to… infiltrate for a little, find out how it works, what they sell besides the wine… Like lyrium. Or virgin's blood."

"And you took me with you, because I'm the most inconspicuous person you could think of."

"Varric can't risk his reputation in works for a guard, Anders can't drink, Isabela won't go in any bar without main purpose of getting laid and Merrill… Must I really start about Merrill? Besides, you_ do_ drink wine, so why not?"

He eyed her incredulously, trying to decide if that was true or she was merely implementing her recent, absurd idea. On the one hand, it was hard to believe that she would care enough to put so much effort just to get him into a wine sampling. And that she would try to spare his pride and let him pretend it's just another job.

On the other hand, Hawke was so stubborn and unpredictable that you can expect anything.

"Fine." He said wryly "Then you do all tasting and I'll keep a clear head."

She rolled her eyes up and growled "Alright. I tried to maliciously lure you into tasting awesome stuff. Bite my head off. But you owe me one luring, do you remember?"

He frowned, examining her with quirked eyebrow.

"Oh, come on, we're already here! Maybe that Aggregio will still be the best, but it should be _your_ choice, not that magister-jerk."

Finally he sighed with resignation and she flashed that fiery triumphant smile of hers that always made even finding another piece of junk seem as great achievement.

* * *

><p><em>Two hours and six glasses later<em>

"Do you know what your name means in Arcanum?" he asked, staring at wine in his glass. It was shot with dark shade of purple in the dim light."Heather."

Hawke snorted "Yeah, and it also means "eternal ruler" or something like that in old language. It doesn't matter. I prefer narcissuses and Maker knows, I'm no ruler."

He took a long sip of his wine and muttered, not looking at her.

"At least your name was given with best intentions. Fenris means "little wolf". Undoubtedly Danarius chose it as pet name."

"Bah!" She frowned and bumped her glass against the table, miraculously not breaking it. "Who cares about what that sick bastard wanted? Your name doesn't define you."

He smiled shortly and bitterly, involuntarily scratching his markings at the throat.

"Name doesn't."

"Actually…" Hawke chewed at her lip and then shook her head "Ah, never mind."

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Silly drunken thoughts, not worthy of speaking aloud."

"Oh?" he grinned provocatively, "If _you_ consider that something too silly to say aloud, I'm really intrigued."

She rolled her eyes "You're gonna get offended."

"I've survived your pirate's compliments. Try me."

She sighed and muttered slowly

"The markings in your throat… they actually remind me of a fish bone. You know, a spine, ribs… and caudal fin under the lower lip."

He stared at her blankly, absently rubbing his jaw. Even if Danarius didn't bothered to put any meaningful symbolism in Fenris's markings, he still would be outraged at that impression of his "masterpiece".

"I hate fish." The elf said dryly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to insult you, really…"

"Well, I did drag it out of you. At least now I understand why you always call me ridiculous."

"Because of that? Certainly not. I've seen Carver's mabari bark, you should get something the way more interesting than just glowing lyrium markings to impress me."

"Perhaps lyrium breasts will help." He mused with a sour voice and she laughed. They filled their glasses from next bottle and took a sip in silence. This wine was red, made of currants, with fresh, unexpectedly deep and rich taste. Fenris listened to himself and decided that he liked it.

"You know, one of my cousins, Ravyl, always wanted to be a warrior." Hawke said slowly, in her "storyteller's" tunable, almost songful tone "He practiced with his "training sword", which was actually just a stick, and "dueled" with Carver all the time. When we played together, he always was a brave hero, knight in the shining armor, to fight an evil and save a princess."

"And you were a princess?" Fenris smirked with curiously quirked eyebrow and she laughed again.

"Maker, no! Bethany always was princess. Well, they suggested me once, but I said I wouldn't be taken prisoner without at least breaking someone's nose. They let me be after that. I mean, being princess is so boring! You just sit and wait for the rescue. Blargh."

"Then who you were? I don't think there was "an apostate mercenary" role in a fairytale."

"Surely not." She grinned smugly, settling back at her chair "I was an evil, cunning, but alluring sorceress."

He smirked "Well, it realized in life at least partly."

"Oh, please, don't start with the evil magic again…"

"I didn't mean that."

"Then… you think I'm… cunning?"

"I wouldn't deny that possibility."

"Ugh, you… Why are we talking about me suddenly? It was about my cousin!"

"Sure" he nodded innocently, enjoying her brief embarrassment, and reached for the next bottle to fill their glasses "Please, continue."

She sized him up suspiciously, but then relaxed

"So, he discovered his magic at ten and the templars did the same in the next year. He was taken to the Circle. Aunt Rivka was heartbroken, my mother was horrified, but I believed firmly that Ravyl would manage to get things his way eventually. I was eight at that time and just couldn't accept that I'd never see him again."

Fenris took a long sip, examining her thoughtful face. He never had relations or illusions to lose. Well, at least good ones, he thought, remembering his blind, humbled loyalty to Danarius and trying not to cringe.

"And you know what?" Hawke suddenly beamed at him mischievously, distracting him from shameful memories "He did! He not only did he free himself from the Circle by joining Grey Wardens _and_ stopped the Blight, but he also became a warrior! He discovered some ancient technique, the teachings of the Arcane Warriors that allows the use of magic for improving physical and battle capabilities, as I understood it. Anders told me that Ravyl fights in the heavy armor, with shield and longsword, just as he always wanted."

She sighed slowly, her face wreathing in a dreamy, rapturous smile. It was strange to see always skeptical, sarcastic Hawke being so unashamedly impressed. It wasn't because of blood relation: she mocked her own brother just as acidly as anyone else.

"I still can't believe it. My own cousin, a boy with whom we were doing pillow fights, now the Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey and the Arl of Amaranthine. I'm so damn proud of him."

Her adoration stirred in Fenris two different thoughts: first, there were at least two decent mages in Thedas, which was a surprise; and second, no one would ever say anything like that about him, which wasn't a surprise, but still felt bitter.

"So destiny, impossibility, predefinition and everything else is bullshit! Only you decide who you are gonna be. Nothing and no one can stop you, not circumstances, failures or mistakes."

'_Some cases are just lost. You can't build a citadel of only clay and dirt. Some things could be lost forever and you can live your whole life not even imaging that you could be something more.'_

But there was such an unbending, daring belief in her shining eyes, such proud fire in her smile; he couldn't bring himself to argue with her. Or maybe just didn't want to.

"But at first you must decide who you want to be. That's the tricky part." He said quietly, looking away and reaching for the next bottle.

"A free man with his own mansion and a snarky comment to everything is a good start." Hawke said with unusually soft and warm smile and Fenris let himself smile back.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Dear diary, our expedition is leaving tomorrow and I'm so drunk and excited, I can barely keep myself from jumping out of my pants. I'm such a sucker for new experiences and I have so much to look forward in that expedition. I'm taking Anders, Varric and Fenris with me, because as I always say, you should try everything before making a choice. Open-minded, based at your own experience choice is what defines a truly free personality. And now I have a whole range there: a human, elf, dwarf and mage, warrior, rogue. The both scales are complete at the same time. Just perfect! I can try everything at once! And there are so many possible combinations! I expect a big hot deal from elf and mage tandem. And of course, just thinking about all four of us, together… it makes my lady parts wibble! Can't wait for it!<strong>_

_**/**_

_Varric, may I never again take part in good foursome, I swear I didn't do it! It's really not me and her quacking disaster of __handwriting__ is nearly impossible to fake anyway. Also, I heard she really was drunk in that evening. So maybe we finally can see her true nature? So if in the Deep Roads she starts staring at you luridly, throw the elf and healer at her, run and hope that your sense of stone hasn't completely __atrophied. Well, if you want to hold true to Bianca. If not, then have __unforgettable times! _

_What can I say for you, Hawke… Go, go, girl! The best plan you've come up so far! You rock!_

_/_

_Hawke, I wanted to talk to you, but now I'd like to exchange messages without direct contact. Just tell me it was another joke of yours, right? Please, I don't want to look for a new partner a day before expedition's departure. _

_~ Varric and his belief in human's sanity._

**_/_**

_**Oh, guys, come on! You couldn't really believe in Carver's nonsense. Besides, he spent his life honing his skills in forging my handwriting, and still can't get a correct "a". Just compare and you'll see.**_

_**And Carver… That was just juvenile and petty. Grow up already, please.**_

_**/**_

**Grow up? So you're acting like perfectly grown up adult when you mock me, recite my intimate letters and, of course, you just have to explain to everyone who Peaches is. And on top of endless humiliation, you're not taking me with you! Because I haven't grow up yet, yeah?**

**/**

_There's a difference between laughing at actual flaws and imposing false, __undeserved assaults. You need to learn it if you want to be taken seriously, Junior._

_/_

_Awwww, awkward family drama! I love that stuff! Hawke, __why have you been so competent and told your brother he's not going beforehand? You should've left it for the last moment, with your mother crying at your sleeve about danger, so little Carver could throw a full-blown hysteric in front of the crowd. What about are the hirelings going to gossip about now? _

_Still, I'd take your brother's plan seriously if I were you._

_**/**_

_**Why does this thing have "The Journal of Erica Hawke" **__**label on it? It's an effing **__**public bulletin board**__** already! I hate you all. I'm dead serious.**_

_**P.S. If anyone writes anything else in this page, I swear I will let my mabari to chew on their boots without taking them off!**_

_**/**_

**I'm sorry, Messere Hawke, I was asked to write something here. I don't know why. But I wanted to tell you that I'm so looking forward to work with cousin of the Hero of Ferelden. He is a great man. If you want anything special in your ration, just let me know. **

**R****espectfully yours****, Bodahn Feddic.**

/

**_You roguish bastards!_**


	6. Sunrise deep in hell

_A/N:Hi, sorry for delay, half-written chapter was lost thanks to my system crushing, so I had to write it twice. Ugh, annoyance. But reviews helped me keep it up:) Thanks again to to Scarletstar20 for beta-reading:)_

* * *

><p><em>But i'm still looking for someone<em>  
><em> Someone that's larger than life<em>  
><em> Something that's sharp<em>  
><em> Sharp as the knife<em>

There were dragons in the Deep Roads. Fucking_ dragons._ In the Deep Roads!

Why?.. How?..

Now I'm no biologist, but even I can see that this is not a place for giant flying lizards! What are they doing here? What are they eating here when there are no reckless greedy expeditions around? Darkspawn? Deep mushrooms? Really, I'm struggling to provide for my little family in Kirkwall, and that Mama Dragon managed to bring up a damn horde of calf-sized dragonlings in the Deep Roads! I'm officially shamed.

No shit, we were caught absolutely unprepared for the dragon swarm. The first few minutes everyone was too busy trying to not die to back each other up. I knew we were screwed when Anders went down. Sure, he was giving me lessons for the last two week in his clinic and he even said I'm getting decent. But I only treated people after careful examination, without rush, under Anders' supervision and with direct contact, so in battle the tactic 'press something to the wound' still was more effective than my healing.

Varric and I were trying to get rid of crowds of annoying dragonlings as soon as possible while Fenris held back the main scaly bitch. And when I say 'bitch', I mean it, because it fought dirty. It not only breathed fire, but also flapped its wings, throwing the elf across the room, and roared right at his face. I don't know what exactly made a stunning effect – a thundering sound or fresh breath, and Maker's fart, I really don't want to find out. But Fenris stubbornly stood up and got back to the beast every time. Probably he imagined it was a mage, because he was doing amazingly well up until the point when the dragon caught him in the jaws and started to chew. Literally. I managed to throw Winter's Grasp on the monster before effing dragonlings swarmed me again, but the bitch didn't seem to notice. I was afraid it would just swallow up Fenris in one piece, but finally its tastebuds were devastated from our elf's bitterness and the dragon spit him out. Fenris hit the ground with short pained groan, so I assumed he was alive, but he hadn't stood up this time.

_Shit._

Varric and I simultaneously looked at the elf, then at the dragon and finally, with the same expression of hopeful expectation of 'I'll take care of it', at each other. But nobody wanted to play a hero, so when the monster roared, we ran at the opposite sides. So much for the team-work.

Apparently Varric looked tastier than me, because the dragon went after him. It cornered the rogue and methodically slashed him with its claws. I wiped out last dragonlings with Tempest and Firestorm, but that didn't distract the dragon. If the bitch keeps it up, my buddy would get torn to pieces.

I ran up to the dragon's wide backside, dodging the swinging tail, shouted _"_Let's see whose fire is hotter!" and shoved fireball right up it's ass. _That_ made it personal. The beast roared and flapped its wings, throwing me at the wall.

It left Varric lying on the ground and started chasing me around the giant ancient hall. I ran in circles, trying to not step on my unconscious companions. Shit, shit, shit…

_Sober up, girl. Are you daughter of a hawk or a hen?_

It's not an invincible legendary monster that already defeated my friends and is about to bite off my head. It's just a fat fire-breathing lizard, stupid, tired and already wounded. I have health and lyrium potions and a real advantage, unlike the others. I don't need to get in close like warriors or stop and waste my time recharging a crossbow. I'm a mage, I need just to concentrate, glance over my shoulder and decide how exactly I want to hurt this mythical scaly piece of shit. It doesn't matter who's running from whom, only one thing matters – who controls the situation.

_Time for a dragon hunt. You can handle that. You _must _handle that._

We made quite several circles and I saw that the monster is about to fall from merely tripping over the rock already. I could continue hit it on the run, but I wanted to finish it epically.

I stopped abruptly, spun around on my heel and drew wide Cone of Cold with my staff, freezing the dragon in the middle of rearing up.

"You want a fist fight? You've got one!"

I can lift a half-dozen of heavy-armored men in the air and smash them against the ground so hard that it'll break their armor. My Fist of the Maker shattered ice crystals around the dragon, sent cracks along its tail and chopped off a few claws and one horn. The beast fell down to the ground, howling, and lashed out, trying to bite me.

"What, don't like it? Well, I have two arms!"

Stonefist rammed right into the dragon's eye, throwing it's head back. The beast growled and shook its head, clearly not able to get up_. It's almost over_. I could finish it off with just the blade of my staff, but no, I wanted it to be epic. I wanted it to be so epic that Varric – shame he can't see it for himself – wouldn't know what to exaggerate when he tells this story in taverns.

The dragon slowly lifted its head and craned its neck in last desperate attempt to get me. I grinned heatedly and held up my hand, ball lightning growing bigger and brighter around my fingers. The dragon opened wide it's jaws, but I didn't step back, preparing to shove lightning right down its throat. _So, who's awesome and badass now? Hell yeah, that's me and…_

A lanky, more blinking than actually glowing in blue light, silhouette flashed in and slammed a greatsword through the dragon's eye.

"Whaa….?" I gasped, barely managing to keep the lightning from striking the elf instead.

_You stole my epic killing blow, you bastard!_

Fenris stood there, clutching at his sword with both hands and swaying slightly. He looked down at the head of the dead dragon, then at me and suddenly collapsed. I cursed, rolled up my eyes and threw the lightning at the wall.

Suuuure. You just have to interrupt me in the last moment or your ears would wither off out of vexation. You couldn't calmly lie on the ground and wait, you had to rush in, disturb your wounds and faint, but not let me have my way and my crowning moment of awesome. You've already killed one dragon in the Bone Pit, why couldn't you leave that one to me, huh?

Ugh. _That_ elf!

* * *

><p>Fenris sat on the ground not far from where he fell before, trying to look nonchalantly and stately, as if he wasn't almost munched up by a dragon.<p>

"You didn't say you specialized as Dragonslayer. The second one in two weeks! I'm beginning to feel like a princess. So thank you for the glorious rescue and…"

I was going to finish it with something really acidic, but he looked up at me, his dark, barely noticeable in all the dirt, eyebrows going up, and suddenly smiled. It was very tentative, clearly surprised, reservedly flattered smile. Very brief, but sincere. Even from under the layer of dust and blood so thick that it hid his markings, even with split lip and bloodshot eye, there was that light. The glimpse of the sun that I saw few days ago when we talked in his mansion, that I blamed on his low alcohol tolerance, my delusion, and strange optical effects from the atmosphere. But it was there again and…

_ He took it all in good faith, _I realized.

If Fenris hadn't read sarcasm in my gratitude, then he really thought he was saving me. He probably woke up for a moment, saw the dragon hovering above me and got himself up to help me, not even noticing that I was preparing for an epic smackdown and the beast was pretty much dead anyway.

_Have you ever said thank you to him?, _My inner voice, the one responsible for maintaining 'the honor of nobility' thingy, asked in a tone of politely restrained, but pointedly not hidden disgust that reminded me strongly of the Seneschal Bran.

_ No, but I didn't think he would want it from a filthy mage and…_

Even if he's arguing with you, he still fights with full effort regardless his approval of your decisions. He followed you to the damn Deep Roads and you know that ridiculous debt of his is not the reason. You didn't kill his former master, so formally the job wasn't completed and he has no debt to repay. He got chewed up by a dragon for you without any complaints. And now you're about to mock him for trying to rescue you despite severe wounds. Way to be a petty bitch! You can also kick homeless starving puppies out in the rain while you're at it. Even if you don't like him, he still deserves your gratitude.

I swallowed and tried to continue "...and thank you for everything. Like, fighting at my side half-dead. You've been a great help."

Fenris blinked at me, then quickly turned his head away, trying as usual to cover his eyes under his hair, which now was more like blooded spikes, and hiding nervous chuckle in a nonchalant cough. That was apparently bad idea, because he doubled in half and had to spit some blood.

"You're welcome," his voice was even rougher than usually and blood was still bubbling in his throat.

I frowned. "You need to see Anders. I mean, Anders needs to see you. Your wound, precisely."

_Stop rambling, he'll think you're possessed by Merrill_.

"Health potions and an injury kit will do fine, as usual."

"This is the Deep Roads! We don't have time for slow recovery. You could get an infection or worse, the taint."

He was still stubbornly glaring at the ground.

"Oh, come on, it's just a little healing! It's not a time to suddenly get capricious." I sighed, rolling up my eyes. "That's an order. You can spit on my boots and have no more business with me when we're back in Kirkwall, but right now it's my responsibility to get you back in the same state you left."

He stared at the ground for a while, obviously struggling inwardly, but then looked up at me and suddenly proposed

"You do it."

"What?" I almost choked with surprised laugh, but he answered with firm, determined voice.

"Why not? You're a mage too."

"I'm no healer! I'm rookie, greener than Sylvan's shit, in healing. If you want, we can blindfold Anders and tell him he's treating me, so your pride would be spared. Even like _that_ he'd do better than me!"

Fenris tried to sigh, coughed blood again instead, and then evidently forced himself to explain

"My markings give me protection from the magical damage. As much as I understand the principle, they detect intentions of a mage and block spells from the hostile ones."

I scratched my chin and nodded. That certainly made sense, because in other case, friendly and useful magic would be blocked off too.

"But as a side effect, I... feel those intentions and attitudes myself. It's something like insults, but expressed in direct emotions instead of words."

_Ouch. That's bad. That's really bad._

I glanced back at Anders. He was dealing with his own wounds and grumbling at Varric, who was waiting for his turn.

"Maniac", "fanatic", "monster" were usual terms that Anders used speaking about the elf. I could see why Fenris prefers risk of taint to that amount of open hatred and contempt. No doubt, he brought it on himself, but still, after life as a slave, he didn't deserve suffering through all that humiliation. Especially when our healer is in a terrible mood because of Deep Roads and a herd of dragonlings that flattened him.

"I can't." I mumbled weakly "I've never treated anyone chewed up by a dragon."

"It's just simple stab wound on my back. I believe there was fair amount of backstabbed in the Darktown clinic where you were learning."

I glanced at him darkly and muttered "I need to see the wound."

He looked away again, his jaw visibly tensing, and after a few moments his voice was muffled.

"There is a clasp at the back of my collar."

I reluctantly came up and sat at the ground behind him, craning up my neck to examine it. Yep, there was a clasp and the same one at the hem of his tunic. I always wondered why Fenris's vests had a gap that showed the strip of his skin. Turned out, with those clasps opened, it was possible to bare his back without removing his armor and shoulder-pads. I still can't see the necessity for such peculiar design, but now it's not the time to snark about armor.

Very carefully, I lifted bloody cloth from the wound and almost flinched at the sight. The injury looked awfully deep, with jagged, swollen edges because the dragon decided to swing Fenris about like a chew toy. The wound was still oozing blood.

Even if I manage to patch this up somehow, there is gonna be hell of a scar... Oh man.

"I'll have to touch you."

"I will endeavor to restrain myself from biting your hand."

"Ugh, you!.. I know you hate it, so I thought I should warn you. Tell me if it hurts."

"Just do what you can."

So he's certain it will hurt. Oh maaaan. I'm basically about torturing him without even certainty that it'll help. What did I do to bring this on me? I was never supposed to be a healer! I was trained as battle mage, it's Bethany who was sweet and kind and wanted to help people...

Wait... Sweet and kind... If elf's markings are minimizing effects of hostile magic, maybe they will increase spells from friendly, benevolent mage?

I don't think asking him about it would help. _Hey, Fenris, had you ever met a mage who actually liked you? _He'll just bite my head off. Still, worth a try. I couldn't see what could possibly cause him harm by wishing him well. Worst case scenario, I'll just have to heal the wound with only my own shitty ability. The real problem is we aren't exactly best friends. Well, maybe I don't want to breathe flames every time he speaks anymore, but he's still not easy to be around. I looked at him thoughtfully.

_Do I really dislike him so very much?_

Fenris was so tense that I almost expected lightning to spark between his shoulder-blades. He sat on the rocks, embracing his bony knees and leaning forward like a hedgehog who is about to roll himself up into a ball. Well, his armor is spiky enough. And hedgehogs are stubborn, grumpy, self-willed, insolent and defensive fellows too.

This one is also sarcastic, smart and brave.

_Do I really not like him?_

But instead of needles, his back was covered in scars. Of course, the markings were catching the eye first, but actually there was hardly a single area of untouched skin. But something was off about many of those scars. They looked like accurate cuts, too precise for battle wounds and laid in series of unhurried, confident strikes. As if Fenris made no resistance or attempt to dodge, which is really weird since his fighting style is all about speed...

Suddenly it clicked and I had to bite my lip to restrain the gasp.

_Whip_, I realized and took a deep breath, feeling a little nausea. _That was a fucking whip. _

Design of elf's tunic with an easy access to his back made repulsively rational sense now. It wasn't effective to punish him with magic, since markings would reduce power, so that sick Tevinter bastard lashed him. Damn, that's so wrong, it shouldn't...

_If the Maker exists, why don't all of those rotten slavers turn into the dunghills that they really are on the spot?_

I remembered the timorous light in Fenris's rare smiles, concentrated and lightly touched his back with only fingertips.

The elf winced at the touch and jerked forward for a moment, but I immediately felt response of his markings. It was way better than I expected, almost as if I used an actual enchanted artifact. Not only did the brands increase the raw power of the spell, but they also helped to direct it to the precise areas that needed healing. That was my problem - I couldn't properly aim my healing magic inside the body. I could cure a mouthful of bad teeth and constellation of pimples and waste all energy before getting to the actual injury. But as I sent healing wave along the markings, they allowed me to accurately detect all minor wounds, scratches and bruises and direct my magic with precision of a never-missing mage's staff. Brilliant!

I got so carried away with exciting possibilities flooding my brain that I've almost overlooked the fact that Fenris wasn't just not moving, but seemingly also not breathing.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." His voice was hoarse, but blood wasn't rumbling in his throat anymore.

"Just wanted to let you know, you can still breathe."

He just jerked his head in abrupt nod_. Oh man, if he didn't even snark something back, he must be really in pain._

"Does it really hurt that much?" I asked warily.

"No. It's fine. You can continue."

A-ha, that's reassuring. But maybe I can do something about it. Anders taught me principles of pain-killing, though I didn't think I would be able to use them anytime soon. But with those lyrium brands...

"Fenris? Your back will feel kinda numb for while. It should minimize pain while I deal with the dragon's bite."

"It's unnecessary."

"Yeah, yeah, you're a stoic "Not-made-of-glass" martyr, you've been through a lot more worse things, yadda yadda, I know. I just happen to not like torturing people, so excuse me."

He didn't even nod this time. Oh well.

I sighed and focused on his markings, removing feeling from the area around the wound. With anyone else, I'd just poke his back to see did it work, but not with Fenris. He could endure any torture, but could barely stand a simple touch.

If I ever have to blackmail that elf, I'll promise to paralyze and hug him. Maybe even kiss him, if it's really serious.

"Hey, did it work? Can you still feel it?"

There was vague brief nod, as if someone pulled the string. Jeez, and how should I understand it? Yes, it did work or yes, he can still feel it? Ugh, that elf!

I sighed again and concentrated at the wound, sending all the kind words that were never spoken because they didn't seem appropriate, all the smiles that were never exchanged, all gratitude that wasn't expected to be welcomed.

There wasn't even a scar after a minute. Wow, I didn't expect it to be that effective! Who's awesome again! But, well, now I can see why that magister wants those lyrium markings back so badly. They adjusted to his needs perfectly and could help to create an ultimate living weapon, the potential was so great...

_So, how about we find out?_ proposed the cold-blooded, unscrupulous part of my mind that never let me get robed or cheated in business.

No, I don't have a right. He suffered through too many experiments already.

_The markings are already there. He went through all that pain to get them, so why not use them fully if price is already paid?_

Not by me. I can't just use them and...

_For his own sake. It will benefit him greatly._

No. It's too complicated, almost an intimate matter. I couldn't just meddle without permission. It must be his choice and I'm fairly certain that if he even suspects that I can affect his brands in any way, he'll rip out my heart. So no, this is already too much.

"I believe we're done." I said with hidden smugness and reached to close his clasps, but Fenris' hand sprang up immediately. Sure, after I heal all his life threatening, agony causing wounds, he's independent and prickly again. Why let the despicable mage to touch you when you're not literally falling to pieces? Oh well.

We stood up and Fenris busied himself, setting his vest right and attaching the scabbard, and stubbornly refused to meet my eyes. It stung my pride, but as a healer I had to ask him even if he's not thankful and wants to bury this memory in the darkest corner of the mind

"Are you alright? Is there's something I missed?"

He finally looked up at me with hesitant, almost sheepish, grateful smile. Now, when the eerie whiteness of his hair was hidden under the layer of dust, bizarre armor was battered and lost pretentiousness, his own natural features came to the fore. I always hated striving for feigned exotic beauty, but under everything that magister forced over him, Fenris wasn't a forgery. You can't fake that light, which made his usually cold mossy eyes apple-green and radiant, and when he smiled like that I wanted to know him better, the true him, not the fancy war-toy that Tevinter pig tried to shape.

"Thank you. I'm fine" he said slowly, his grave voice taking a barely noticeable change to unusual warm velvet tone.

I smiled back, when Anders came up and examined us skeptically.

"What, did you heal him, Hawke? Good, you need someone to experiment on."

"Anders!" I hissed, but the elf already crouched up as usually and walked away.

_Jeez.__ He'll never ask me to help him again!_

* * *

><p>He came up to me after a couple of minor skirmishes, looking grim and determined, but remaining silent, as if he was being forced to make deal with demon, but didn't know how to start.<p>

"What?" I asked warily.

"I suppose we must use health potions sparingly down here." He said darkly, avoiding my eyes.

"Well, yeah, I guess. Unless we happen to stumble across Darkspawn's alchemy shop."

He just sighed and shifted from one leg to other. It was getting insufferable.

"Oh, come on, Fenris, spit it out already! You look like you want me to deal with some nasty rash."

He finally met my gaze with a question in his bright, clear eyes. I didn't think I would ever find an actual resemblance between Fenris and Merrill, but apparently wonders never cease.

"You know, the type Isabela scratches constantly."

He huffed indignantly "I have a wound on my side."

"You couldn't get to this part without a long expressive prelude? Let me see."

He lifted the hem of his vests over ribs.

"Maker's snot! What did you do, try to snuff yourself with rocks?"

"I didn't ask the ogre of his intentions when he smashed me against the wall, but I believe your idea is close enough."

I chuckled and tried to concentrate at the wound, but...

"Stop staring."

"What?"

"I said, look away."

He narrowed his eyes "Why?"

_Because it's really hard to convince myself that we're great pals when you look like you wait for the first opportunity to cut my head off._

"I need to do blood magic and the demon won't come if you're watching."

He kept glaring silently. I sighed.

"It's... distracting."

"I recall you said I can't intimidate you."

"I didn't say you're scary. But your stare can give a headache to a corpse. It's distracting."

He managed to frown and crack his eyebrow skeptically at the same time.

_Oh my, this is embarrassing. _

"Listen, do you want this wound to be healed? Then look away!"

He examined me for another second, but then turned his head away, briefly muttering something in Tevinter.

"It's not very grateful to call someone trying to help you nasty names." I muttered while directing healing energy at his injury. First, carefully remove all rock shards and cleanse the wound to prevent possible infections...

"It wasn't an insult."

"A-ha, sure." I was pretty certain it wasn't, but I wanted to take little revenge for my embarrassment.

"I said 'Women'.

"Maybe you've mentioned a certain profession?"

"It was not an insult. You can verify it if you want."

"Of course, because the first thing I packed was an advanced Tevinter dictionary."

Fenris turned to glare at me incredulously, but I shouted before he could say anything.

"You're staring again!"

He groaned and threw his head back, gazing at the ceiling.

"And don't ask Maker to strike me on the spot, he's had too many of those requests already."

"I don't doubt it."

"Hey! Words can hurt too!" The wound was almost healed, but I still had a little time to poke Fenris, so I bullshitted cheerfully "I have feelings, you know. Maybe I'm a filthy mage to you, but under our magical filth we're just the same beings as everyone else. I'll go and cry myself to sleep because of your rudeness and..."

"If I gave any chance to consider my words as offense, I apologize for nothing can be farther from my intentions."

I looked up at him, pouting my lips with disappointment

"You said that just to shut me up, yeah?"

He continued staring up, but I could see small smirk dancing on his lips.

Well, maybe I sort of kinda probably liked that snarky beanpole. A little.

* * *

><p>"The blade of your staff is blunt."<p>

Hawke turned to him with sour grimace and quirked eyebrow "And the blade of your sword is bigger than you. What, are we having contest of useless obvious comments?"

"Mine wasn't useless."

"Huh? Then mine wasn't useless either. With that knowledge you can use your sword as concealment from view. Or prop the ceiling. Or sail across..."

"Your life and therefore well-being of the group could be depended at sharpness of your blade, especially in places like this."

She huffed with irritation "And what would you have me to do? Blades of mages' staffs are sharpened in special way and I don't know how to do it. I always left it to the professionals and, well, I'm sorry I didn't predict Bartrand's betrayal that would divide me from expedition's armory."

After a minute of silence he said, not looking at her "Give it to me at the next halt."

She almost tripped over, her eyebrows jumping up and bright amber eyes rounding with astonishment "Emmm... Sorry, what?"

"I need a toothpick."

"And legends say elves have perfect teeth." she said warily, trying to meet his eyes, but he pointedly stared forward

"The same legends that demand me to frolic?"

She chuckled briefly, but continued with the same cautious tone "I mean, thank you, but you don't have to do it."

"Of course I don't. Maybe I'm just tired of doing all the work, while you merely slap darkspawn when you should kill them."

"My staff's blade is the last thing I rely on in battle."

"You have a talent for luring several enemies into a corner and trapping yourself."

She made a face at him and he finally let himself return her gaze

"Fine, whatever you want. Make me look helpless and incompetent."

He nodded, swallowing down a curse. Even when he wanted to do something for her, it always got twisted in the most stupid ways and turned into another pride-butting match. Usually she was the first to step down and admit ironic defeat, which made him look stubborn and petty.

He'd tasted many different shades of magic: from skin-burning hate and bloodlust to ice-cold disgust and contempt. He knew healing magic as well - of course, Danarius would never condescend to it himself, but he had servants trained only as healers. Their spells felt like spit on the face or slops, poured over the head. When he asked Hawke to heal him, he expected side effect to be hot and maybe etching.

Again this woman proved to be absolutely unpredictable.

It was midday sunshine, very light and lenient feeling, almost imperceptible. If they'd been on the surface, he may not notice it at all. But there, in the Deep Roads, with only smoky torches and eerie glow of lyrium branches to illuminate their path, the difference was striking. It wasn't high southern sun of Kirkwall though. It was fierce heat of northern sun at noon, the sun of Tevinter and Seheron. He had almost forgotten this sensation, but could not mistake it.

When he felt it for the first time - Hawke was more worried about dealing with his wound than about fighting a dragon - he was afraid to breathe to not scare it away. He waited for it to become burning and acid - what you usually get from Hawke - but it never came. Only weightless warmth spreading over his skin, seemingly ignoring all dirt and dust, and it left him refreshed instead of humiliated as magic always did. Before, touches were divided only by one characteristic - did they hurt or not, this time it was something that not only didn't hurt, but felt good. Something he wanted to last, though he knew was a foolish, dangerous weakness. But it felt like acceptance, maybe even… sympathy.

He didn't know how to express it to her, so he just said "Thank you. I'm fine" to her questioning eyes. Fried eggs. Bright amber. Or late sunrise.

* * *

><p>When they settled an improvised camp, she glanced at him few times, but with her peculiar sense of tact didn't dare to remind of his promise. Fenris came up to her and held out his hand without a word. Hawke blinked at him almost shyly, gave him her staff and said with warm, grateful smile,<p>

"Please try to not drool over it. It will be slippery to hold in battle."

_Typical. Entirely typical. It's always like this between us._

"I'll do my best," he answered solemnly and her eyes beamed up even more brightly.

"Thank you," she said with royally graceful nod and he barely kept himself from bowing. It was not time or place for those silly games. And, even more obviously, he wasn't made for light-hearted mischief.

He sat down on the rocks and began to work. If nothing else, it helped to not feel useless and idle, because as much as he hated to admit it, it was the mages who made the primary contribution in the group's decent subsistence after Bartrand's betrayal.

Of course there was no kindling to feed the fire in the damp tunnels. But Hawke just snapped her fingers and clear strong flames rose up from the bare stones, without smoke and not withering under foul drafts of the Roads. Meanwhile, the mage took from Varric the ancient helm that they found in one of the tombs, sat down and stared at it severely and even possibly demandingly. The elf and the dwarf exchanged questioning glances, while Anders paid this strange process no attention and without stopping grumble about hated Deep Roads, started to scrub the Deep Mushrooms which they collected on their way. After few minutes of staring, when Fenris started to seriously worry for Hawke's sanity, the helm was suddenly filled with clear water.

"Wow," Varric muttered, "I didn't know you could do that."

"Huh?" Hawke glanced up for a second, rolling up her sleeves, then took a kerchief from her bag and started to scour helm. "Oh, please tell me that my storyteller notices those large piles of ice that I create in the battle for his amusement. I even do my best to shape them funny for the sake of your stories!"

"Well, of course I notice. That possibility just never came to my mind."

"Umgh, yeah, it's because for some reason Cone of Cold seems to work more effectively in battle than Fountain of Joy."

She poured dirty water out of the helm and stared at it for another minute. She tasted new portion of water and beamed at her companions proudly.

"Every mage can create pot of water, that's no wonder. But only the master of elemental magic can make that water spicy!"

"Oh, thank the Maker you've managed," Anders sighed with relief "I hate Deep Mushroom soup as it is, but if it's too bland..."

"Told you I could do it. After all, magic is only projection of our imagination on the real world."

"Where have you been all these years? You're invaluable travel companion."

Hawke gave the healer a brief, sly smile and turned to others

"So, as it seems you've failed to understand delights of domestic magic, I'll put it simply. Bring me your waterskins and I'll fill them. And, jeez, guys, please tell me you haven't saved the water all day and gone thirsty?"

For some time after that, Anders was making the soup since he was only one who was in the Deep Roads before and therefore had at least distant idea how to cook deep mushrooms properly; Fenris busied himself with Hawke's staff and Hawke herself was clearly determined to comfort Varric, forcibly if she had to. After his brother's betrayal, the dwarf behaved as if nothing happened - or at least that it stirred in him nothing but the anger. Varric cursed and scolded Bartrand as just another business partner who set him up, but between exaggerative colorful bursts of indignation he was unusually quiet. _Who is brooding now?_ the elf could've ask the rogue, but it would be too low a blow.

Hawke took a seat next to Varric, so close that their shoulders touched. The dwarf glanced at her and returned to polishing his crossbow.

"So." Hawke nudged him at the side "You had your 'think about it alone' time, now we should discuss it."

"Really? Alone? I remember you guys were hanging around constantly and you apparently forgot to notice the Darkspawn." Varric gave the mage wide light-hearted grin, but Fenris knew how good he was at bluffing. "Besides, there is nothing to talk about. I'm a big boy, Hawke, I'm fine already."

"Next time I hear "I'm fine" from anyone here, I'll kick him in the teeth."

"Seriously, you're fussing over nothing. We're from dwarven nobility, remember? Things like this are absolutely common among them and Bartrand always strived to be closer to Orzammar. Actually, he pulled cheap trap in comparison to noble standards. For example, that whole intrigue with killing the heir and the exile of innocent daughter of the last Orzammar's king..."

Hawke listened patiently to all his stories about betrayals and backstabbing. The dwarf told them in rich sordid details, as if convincing himself that it could've been much worse. When Varric finally exhausted himself, the mage rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.

"You're holding up amazingly."

"Oh, are we back at it again? Told you, I'm... We never were close, you know it for yourself."

"And what? Carver and I can't stand each other for the most of the time, but if he'd left me, I know I'd be ruined. That's why I admire your self-control."

"Come on, don't..."

"You shouldn't stay angry at Bartrand, he's clearly just a blind fool. Happens even in the best bloodlines. He's not worthy of you eating yourself up over him. Trading you for just some stupid priceless idol, jeez! You're worth more than thousand lyrium statues of your full size."

"Hawke, stop it. I know, it's hard to resist my charm, but try to control yourself. People will talk."

"Really, he doesn't deserve you. I know I'd be happy to have an older brother like you."

"Oh? Even older?"

"Sure. You're so much more experienced and wiser than me."

"You little wheedle." the dwarf grumped fondly "I'm honored, but I don't think Junior will survive another elder sibling."

"At least he won't accuse your shadow of being gigantic."

Varric smirked "Some could suspect we don't have blood relation. But we could convince them, because your eyes are the same color as my neck-chain."

Hawke nodded and said with mischievous side-glance from under half-lowered eyelashes

"We're not done."

"What? What do you pla?.."She leaned forward and hugged him passionately. Varric almost started out of surprise and tried to sound angry, but even with his bluffing skills couldn't hide a smile "Hawke! Get out of me, woman. I'm too manly for your girly cuddles."

"Oh, as you say, great Paragon of Manliness." The mage gave his shoulders last squeeze and finally straightened up. The dwarf readjusted lapels of his coat and grumbled, still slightly embarrassed.

"You just wanted to fondle Bianca."

"Can't blame me for trying," Hawke smiled softly, a sudden contrast to her usual lop-sided grins and teasing smirks.

* * *

><p>Fenris didn't know that she was capable of not only devastating firestorms, but also of soothing warmth. And now it became also clear why Hawke was the leader of the group, though some of her companions were more experienced and influential. When Bartrand sealed the door, Hawke didn't complain or hesitate even for a minute. She led them with such confidence, as if she knew for sure that they would find another exit in the web of ancient tunnels. When they faced dead ends, her mood didn't waver in slightest, she would just shrug with a smile, count loot that they found and try again. She had the rare unflinching spirit of natural leader, the kind that let her inspire people in the grimmest situations without visible effort. Not that Fenris was going to let himself panic, but somewhat surprisingly he found that there never were any hints of despair or fear in their company. Hawke made the whole perspective of vanishing in the Deep Roads fade and turn into another merely annoying trouble they would undoubtedly overcome. Maybe it worked because she didn't need to pretend. In truth, she was only one who, realizing all risks, actually enjoyed the travel.<p>

Varric and Anders were walking ahead, the dwarf to find possible traps and hidden ways and former Warden to sense the Darkspawn. Fenris was bringing up the rear and secretly watching Hawke. And Hawke was absolutely taken with this place. Everything new was interesting to her, she tried to keep her excitement to herself, but her shining eyes gave her away. She moved almost in dance, in light, springy steps and trailed swirly patterns as she wondered from ancient runes at one wall to half-ruined statue at another. She would lift up her hands to her mouth impulsively at sight of something especially interesting, spin with her head thrown back to examine ceiling, bend and crane up her neck to glance into darkened niches. Disheveled, dusty, but truly beautiful amidst the darkness, and even ominous ruby light of red lyrium branches turned into joyful sparks in her eyes. The elf couldn't help but enjoy the view. _Bird, bright, lively, free. Firebird._

Of course, someone as expressive and talkative as Hawke couldn't not share her impressions with others. And since Varric still wasn't in the mood for admiring landscapes after brother's betrayal, Anders could only complain and curse Deep Roads and Fenris surely wasn't thrilled about them, but haven't got any more unsociable than before, he was the only choice. Hawke would glance at him sideways, chewing her lip, sigh a few times, but finally resign and start talking. Slowly they got from brief comments to long idle chatting about almost everything.

"I parted with Carver on bad terms. He hates my guts because I left him home."

"Very foolish. He should be grateful for escaping all this trouble."

"Told him so! But no, he's angry anyway. Oh well, I'll bribe him when we return. I'll buy him a mabari. If a mabari pup can't melt someone's heart, nothing can. And I know he always was secretly jealous that Rex chose me."

"A fascinating breed. Such intelligence and strength. Do you ever wonder what he thinks about?"

Hawke shrugged "He still thinks about dog things. Just with more clarity."

"Are you aware that this breed originated in Tevinter? The magisters bred them. It's said the mabari defected during the Imperium's invasion of Ferelden. Merely a tale, but I rather like the idea they found the barbarians more... palatable than the mages."

Rex barked with happy agreement.

"Exactly so. Let's hope your hound doesn't take after his ancestors too strongly, hmm?"

"Bhah! You can try to entice him away, I dare you. But two-handed warrior with one hand bitten off is a miserable sight. Rex would never leave me."

Fenris raised eyebrow derisively "You're so confident that there is no one more strong, noble and worthy of loyalty than you?"

"Noble? Strong? Jeez, no! What does that have to do with loyalty? Nope, he won't leave me because no one can scratch under his ears better than me. Right, boy?" She chuckled and patted her dog, who barked with enthusiasm. Hawke grinned at the elf.

"See? Who needs blood magic if they can scratch ears?"

He glanced at her and swallowed bitter remark with a smirk; but apparently she realized that she hit the sore spot and changed subject.

"Speaking of leaving, have you decided will you stay in Kirkwall or not?"

"I will, most likely."

"And then... mmm... would you mind taking part in occasional mercenary contracts?"

The elf regarded her with long studying look.

"Can't see why not."

"That's good. We seem to work... fine together, yeah?"

He shrugged and looked away, not trusting himself to answer. It wasn't even a compliment, but he felt strangely flattered and … reassured? That there's a place where he's welcomed, that there's someone who'll fight for him… And not just someone, but proud, unbending, fearless, stubborn Hawke. He finally managed to give her a vague crooked smirk and her eyes gleamed warmly in the gloom of tunnel when she smiled back.

Once, shortly after the ritual, when Fenris hadn't yet learned how a slave should behave, there was big plate of tangerines at Danarius's table. They weren't sliced like oranges and laid there like pile of little suns. Danarius noticed his interest and asked softly - he always talked very sleekly - "You want them?" When the elf nodded, the mage shook his head with faked regret.

"But you're my little wolf. Wolves don't eat fruit."

"Wolves eat meat." Hadriana tried to keep up the metaphoric game and the magister encouraged her with an approving nod. This day Fenris's meal consisted of a bit of raw meat. When he couldn't eat it, Hadriana laughed "Oh, I understand what you're waiting for. You want it to rot, because wolves love carrion." Next morning Danarius said "Wolves can't eat fruit, but perhaps we can do something about it." and threw him tangerine's peel. Devoid of memory and any knowledge, he couldn't realize the mockery and gratefully took it as generous gift, a token of goodwill and kindness. Undoubtedly it amused mages to no end.

_You're the same fool as before. You're ready to mistake a peel for treasure again. All that you take for good treatment and warmth are just business and unintentional effect of her magic, merely illusion. You should leave Kirkwall and not lie to yourself. No one will miss you there._

* * *

><p>When they finally reached the surface, it was warm, but overcast day. Varric grinned widely, Anders laughed and looked as if he was about to start singing. Fenris expected Hawke to perform something like noisy happy dance, but she was strangely quiet. She lifted her chin, closed her eyes and sudden thunder swept across the sky. Dark clouds burst in heavy downpour over them.<p>

"Hawke!" Varric cried out, covering his head with his coat "Is it your work? Are you mad?"

She opened her eyes and shrugged with lop-sided grin "Come on, I've wanted to do it for days! Haven't you feel dusty and stifled?"

"We could wait for a bath, or go to the nearby beach, if you feel so urgently about it." Anders tried to not show displeasure, but he looked much like one of his favorite cats would in same situation.

"It's not the same, how can you not see the difference? Alright..." Hawke sighed "It's just a small area under the rain, go on ahead. I'll catch up in few minutes."

The dwarf and healer walked away as fast as they could without running and Hawke turned to Fenris.

"Why don't you go?"

He took a deep breath of fresh air charged with the special elusive smell of lightning that makes head clear better than any potion. Big warm drops ran down his face and tried to sneak under the collar. There really was nothing like this feeling of free, wild purity under the raining skies.

"I think I like it," he told the mage with brief shrug. She examined him with head titled to the side; rain dampened her tousled hair and trailed patterns at her face. Then she suddenly flashed wide radiant smile, mischievous as if they shared a secret, and even under the downpour he could feel sunshine on his skin. There was no magic this time, he knew, and she smiled only for him. They stood together under the rain; wet, dirty and grinning like idiots and for the first time he realized that he wanted to kiss her.

_I saw the sunrise deep in hell_  
><em> And it shines and it shines<em>  
><em> First signals of love<em>  
><em> I say well, i say well<em>  
><em> I saw the sunrise deep in hell<em>


	7. Spitfire

_A/N: When I saw new battle acrobatics of mages, their staffs and perk "Pyromancer", I knew my mage just have to be fire-dancer. I love dancing with fire myself, though I dance with poi, not staff. I was going to mention it briefly, but then got the idea for separate chapter. _

_A lot of thanks to __Scarletstar20 __for her help with beta-reading and everyone for support._

* * *

><p><strong>they'd call me spitfire<strong>

Bethany was her mother's daughter, Erica – a daddy's girl and Carver was no one's son. He couldn't say that he wasn't loved, but he never was the pride of the family.

One tough year, their parents didn't have enough money and Erica refused her Satinalia gifts so twins could get the better ones. Carver clenched his awesomely engraved toy sword and desperately envied his older sister, because his father looked at her with such radiant pride, the kind Carver never received himself.

Erica this, Erica that. Erica can do anything she wants. Mother taught her daughters dances as well as noblewoman's manners, but it wasn't enough for his arrogant sister. She didn't only dance, she danced with fire. She burned down three sheds until she learned how to adjust flames properly and father let her! 'The girl has a talent with the element', he said, 'it'll help her to better master it'. He just built new shed every time; the neighbors were getting suspicious, but no, anything for his precious Erica, his little firebird. She claimed only because of that practice she could cast dangerous spells indoors and not destroy furniture, but he knew it was just an excuse for her own selfish whims. When father died, Carver made her promise - no more dancing with fire. It was not only perilous, but also could be noticed by Templars. It was the first of their many spats, but this time she gave in.

Bethany probably would have submitted to the Circle without influence of her older sister, but Erica - never. When Carver even briefly mentioned that possibility, she almost breathed fire at him. Well, more accurately, she spilled a sea of venom. Still, it was one of the rare cases when she at least took him more or less seriously. Usually, she would just huff at him and let whatever he was saying float in one ear and out the other.

This expedition in the Deep Roads was the last straw. For the last month all her news sounded like "Nothing new, fought dozen undead and bandits, but _that_ elf is getting on my nerves! Ugh!" But even with all her complaints she still took the elf with her and left her own brother home. And then, apparently because she would better suffer and spit at every step than work with her useless little brother, she brought Fenris with her to the Deep Roads.

Well, if she doesn't need her little brother, then he can find his own way in life.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Varric. You're still up! Want to make good on that promise to throw a celebration party?"<p>

"Sure, Hawke. What about him? You want to invite... a friend?" the dwarf asked warily, nodding to tall dark-skinned rivaini at my side.

"Sort of. Rashcar is a drummer, he'll help me to make a little show."

"Hmmm?"

"I want you to clear out your room - blow off all candles and torches, remove the table - I'll need a little free place to dance."

"Dance? Well, that's sounds great, but I'm afraid we will miss few details of this splendid show. You know, without any light."

"You won't. Because it's a dance with fire."

"What? Indoors? Hawke, Templars will notice if you burn down the tavern. Not to mention the impact on little old me, who happens to live here.

"Come on, have faith, Varric. You know I can throw damn fireballs indoors. Trust me. It's gonna be epic."

He sized me up, then nodded slowly.

"Oh, and by the way, Varric. Carver left to become a Templar. At least he didn't seal the door."

* * *

><p>It was not bad, not bad at all. Isabela had seen dances with fire before, not performed by a mage, but undoubtedly with the same purpose. To unleash lust. The dancers she knew wore little clothes and were oiled for further seductive effect; Hawke wore long, high-necked black tunic, so her body almost dissolved in the darkness of room. Almost, but not absolutely - sudden sparks outlined her silhouette occasionally, adding an intrigue.<p>

Traditionally, flames were strongest at the start, dying out over time, but Hawke controlled them at will. Fire would kindle at one or both ends of the staff, run from one side to another, cover one half, other or the whole length. Almost a little too complex for a simple dance.

She started like all fire dancers, slowly, with smooth motions and broad, almost lazy swaying of the flaming staff. But soon enough her tempo increased. It was hard to tell, if Hawke followed the racing beat or music caught up with her, but she moved perfectly in flow of deep, bold sounds. The drummer, the lean, strong man clearly of Rivain origin, with his long fingers and many-coloured beads in a black shock of hair, was apparently one of the Hawke's paramours. The girl has taste, you must her give that. And drummers were the pirate's favorite musicians. They have a rhythm, and it was one of the most important things in sex.

The powerful, raw beat filled the room and in the center of it was Hawke. Now it was clear from where her specific battle movements had arisen. Not quite aggressive strikes, but also not just alluring swaying. Bold, sometimes abrupt and risky motions, too dangerous, too fierce. But it wasn't also a simple demonstration of skill and magic, there was something more, hid, woven between her and the music...

Maybe it was something more than just a brothel dance after all.

* * *

><p>At first, Aveline was worried about such a risky affair. Fire indoors, clearly illegal, and especially after everything that Hawke did to throw the Templars off of the scent. But then the mage started dancing and the guard forgot all her warnings.<p>

It was pure magic, not usual, everyday magic with spells and dirty details like blood and demons. No, it was true magic, like in fairytales that her father read for her long ago, with unearthly beautiful miracle and magical creatures that didn't need to be slayed. Flickering fireflies tossed around feverishly and then turned into radiant comets with wide colorful tails that drew wonderful patterns, glowing in the darkness. Then Hawke's staff flared up entirely and she swirled it like a large flaming wheel, pouring the room in red blinking light. She would turn her staff with fire covering only one half in front of her and then spin it behind her back with flames at another half, and it looked like flapping of wings of great firebird.

For a little, precious while there would be no laws but the ones from storybooks.

* * *

><p>Merrill bit her lip. <em>How could she not understand?<em>

It wasn't just dance with fire, it was dance with fire and darkness. It was a risky game and it's beauty couldn't exist without proper contrast.

She dances like this, creature of blood between untamed fire and waiting dark, balancing and risking her life in every second and she still couldn't understand blood magic, though it was just the same. Darkness plays an equal, inalienable part. Hawke rounds, bends so low that her shoulder-blades almost touch the floor, twirling the blazing staff over her, and then in one smooth, passionate movement, she jumps up in unbelievable somersault, dodging fire in the last second. And in every one of her motions, every one of her pas and steps, darkness catches her up, leads and follows her like a partner. Part of a lover, part of an enemy.

_How could she not understand?_

* * *

><p>At first Justice didn't approve. This dance was childish, a risky, pointless game, a waste of time, useless provocation of desire that distracts from the true goal. But at some point she stopped being a woman made of flesh and became a symbol. Justice knew an importance of symbols. The Fade was based on them.<p>

Dressed in black, she hid in darkness, but created light. What a perfect metaphor for an apostate. Her dance was an embodiment of mage's freedom and pride - forced to balance her own power, dangerous to herself, in constant need of moving, dodging, sliding away.

She outlined her own cage with fire and escaped it every next second. She created blazing, deadly, constantly changing labyrinth of flames and survived within, but playing her own game. Fire dictated her path, it forced her to move in definite way to not get burned, but with cat-like grace she danced as she pleased, not submitting, finding crazy, risky gaps in glowing pattern.

She could be a leader. She had spirit, a heart of fire that could inspire people. But to lead them she would need to rip this flaming heart and carry it raised in her hand. She could be a leader, but would she?

_He would make her see. He had to make her see and help._

* * *

><p>He waited for a great story to tell, for new juicy details of Hawke's image. But it wasn't just dance. It was her soul, bared, sincere, beautiful, vulnerable for those who can see under the first impression of joy and passion. When he saw her dance, he knew he wouldn't be able to tell this story.<p>

But since he prided himself on being a spy master, he scanned reactions of others. Aveline looked like a little girl, utterly enchanted and with her guard down. That was good, she needs to forget about duty sometimes and just have fun. Isabela sat in relaxed pose, watching dance with slightly narrowed eyes and pointedly not impressed - the first sign that she was actually impressed. Merrill was predictably excited. She gasped at every Hawke's dangerous trick, clasped her hands worriedly and covered her mouth admiringly when fire drew another elaborate pattern in the air.

Anders leaned forward, looking at Hawke with hungry, almost predatory rapture. If Varric wins his bet and Hawke chooses the healer, the dwarf would have to warn her. The apostate looked at her not like a man at woman he loves, but like a fanatic at regalia of his cult.

Speaking of the bet...

The elf sat with his usual imperturbable face, but he followed with his intense gaze Hawke's every move. His green irises looked like just thin borders because of how much pupils widened. It was hard to tell which of the sparks in their darkness were reflections of mage's fire and which - of his own interest.

What was even more interesting - Hawke's own intentions. Today, she would most likely leave with bronze-skinned drummer, who devoured her with deep shimmering eyes and interlaced the rhythm of his music with her dance perfectly. But what was more important in long term perspective - was who the mage will look in the first moment after she finishes moving.

He waited and - naturally - enjoyed magnificent view.

* * *

><p>Tevinter mages, even poor ones, consider using their magic for tricks like these as shame and disgrace, so he never saw the show so impressive even in Danarius's feasts. But after a little while he couldn't call it "tricks" any longer. It was something more, not just tricks, or dance or even magic.<p>

It was a burst, a rebellion, a scream of loss. It was strange to realize that independent, careless Hawke was hurt so much by leaving of her brother. Too proud to complain or talk about it, she expressed her resentment without words. Just with desperately sharp, provokingly risky movements and fire.

She flaunted flaming, complicated lace and hid behind it like under the veil. A paradox, like everything about her. It was a warning and a bait at the same time, challenge to try get past those burning barriers and certainty that no one would dare. He wanted to step through those blazing elusive walls and catch her hand, but restrained himself.

_Don't be a fool, you're imagining it. You see what you want again. It's Hawke, what could she know about loneliness? __  
><em>

With the last strikes of the beat resounding across the room and fire dying out at her staff, she dropped down in mock-curtsy, almost kneeling, but with her back proudly straight. When she slowly lifted her lashes and he met her eyes in the fallen darkness, there were the most wild, restless and bright blazes of that night.


	8. Glad you took the time to say hello

_Hey, sorry for delay, I finally back at home. Few of you even bothered to write me messages,asking if I'm going to continue, I'm glad you're interested enough in this, so I pulled myself together and wrote this chapter. It covers 3 years gap between acts, because, well, I don't believe that all bandits and blood mages all together just took 3 years vacation and Hawke didn't interacted with companions. _

_As always, let me know what you think, and oh, I didn't had normal Internet back then, but now I can finally say - wow, finally someone noticed one of the references! Kajia, now "Dancing with dragons" is out and we have to wait another decade for the next book:) _

_Again, thank t_o__ _Scarletstar20_ for amazingly fast beta-reading:)__

* * *

><p><strong>Never thought that anyone could change my view<strong>

_One month and three weeks after the Deep Roads; early morning in Hightown_

"Hey, it's just me! Don't kill me!"

With Fenris you learn to announce yourself louder and earlier than any doorkeeper. Even Isabela doesn't try her usual "sneak and slap the ass" game with him. Not after the first time, when he didn't recognize her and almost chopped off her leg.

"I know that it's you. Hunters don't stomp like a drunk splayfooted elephant."

It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to semi-darkness of the mansion after bright light of the street. I finally discerned the elf at the other side of the hall. He was in the shadows near the stairs, where streams of sunshine from the holes in the roof couldn't reach.

"Chivalrous as always." I grinned, taking a few steps forward. Fenris was in his vest, but without chest-plate, and with his sword. "If you knew it was me, why are you armed?"

"I was training." He glanced at his sword, then looked me straight in the eyes "But..."

Fenris is able to express more with silence than many through florid verses - in one short phrase and quirked eyebrow he managed to insert subtle question about why did I come earlier than we arranged, polite hint that he was busy and also generous willingness to stop if I insisted. Indispensable in noble society, that ability. Mother tried to cultivate it in me from childhood.

"No, no. Carver always rants that exercises should not be interrupted." I shook my head and waved my hands dismissively "Don't mind me, I'll just sit quietly, stare out the windows..." I glanced at the glass, impenetrable because of grime, and corrected myself "... stare at the dirt on the windows... I won't distract you, I promise."

Mother was writing a letter to Carver this morning and it was absolutely impossible to hear all those mournful sighs and secretly blaming lamentations, so I ran from there. Fenris examined me with long, suspicious look, but then shrugged without other questions. He could be amazingly tactful in matters of running.

So I sat on the still intact corner of once luxurious cushion and Fenris returned to his training. Of course I saw Carver practice with a greatsword thousands of times. As it turned out, my brother's style differed from the elf's, like the swaying of drunk sailor as compared to the performance of professional dancer.

I knew, of course, that Fenris was a remarkable warrior, but in battle all I could usually notice were flashes of blue light here and there and abrupt, brutally effective strikes if he happened to be close to get me out of corner. Now it was long, masterly weaved chain of complex combinations without a fumble sliding from one to another, executed with natural grace and visible easiness. But as it went on, I realized other differences. Fighting, all his displays of emotion usually consisted of short irritated curses in Tevinter under his breath. Now he was silent, but in his every move blazed raw, furious rage. He rushed about the room with vicious speed and unpredictability, flashing up in columns of light from roof's holes just to slide into dusk in the next moment. Specks of dust flew up and swirled in sunrays, disturbed by the elf's steps, but couldn't even start to fall down before he'd swept them away with fierce blow. I wanted to pretend I was a part of the furniture while he worked, but when he finally stopped and looked at me, I had an instinctive urge to jump up and say something like "Oh, I just remembered I have to save kitten from the tree, so I should go. See ya!"

He stood in the shadows very still, with his sword lowered, but I knew this calmness was false. Like spring's thawed icicle, seemingly solid, aglisten and impeccable, but ready to burst into sharp shards. Old, forcibly restrained hatred and painful, ferocious tension were written all over his pose: strained muscles of thrust out arm with the sword, tightly shut lips, stretched at cheekbones skin that almost turned white, dilated nostrils. I never was actually afraid of him, not when we yelled at each other, not when he threw the bottle at the wall near me, not even when he tore someone's heart in my sight. But now I looked in his eyes, green-grayish and cold like a morning fog over the lake Calenhad, hiding the tower, but letting the iron glitter of the Templars swords to remind me…

_This man hates the very essence of what you are__. He'd want you to be locked for the rest of you life. He'd prefer that those like you never existed. You remind him of his torturer and he can't see the difference because of the pain. Stay away from him or one day this blind frenzy will unleash upon you._

I stood up at stiff legs and lifted up my chin, refusing to give in to a cowardly impulse.

"You seem to be angrier at shadows than at actual enemies we fight." I tried to smile nonchalantly, but I guess it turned out like lop-sided tense grin.

"I don't have personal issues with bandits. But shadows can have whatever face I prefer." His grave voice was cold and heartlessly harsh like a winter's wind. Only Fenris can be sweaty, disheveled, breathless after the training and still look like a solemn ghost. He stood in the darkness and flows of light around him seem to be the bars of his cage. I wanted to get him out of his sullen, paranoid imprisonment, his teeth-clenching bitter solitude, to distract him from his desperate vicious battles, where he fights hundred shadows with his former master's face, but they still haunt him everywhere. But it's seemed pointless and even a bit cruel, as if bothering a man with old wound that never stops bleeding.

Darn, just look at that! Ugh, this guy got _me_ brooding!

"People shouldn't fight with shadows" I said didactically and walked up to him "Well, not unless it's some animated, aggressive shadows."

"Shadow is sometimes the only companion a one can…" he started with the same brooding tone and I kicked at his shin. He jerked his leg away before I was even close, looked at me like a tired tiger at mad sparrow and quirked his eyebrow questioningly.

"Try me. I used to spar with my brother." I explained, picking up my staff. I knew I'm walking on the very thin line here, but I had to risk. He has to learn the difference between whip and friendly pokes or he'll always be the ghost with never-healing wounds.

"Why sudden concern about my training partners?"

_Well, Isabela is determined to get the concern about your sex partners covered, __and I thought someone should help you with everything else. _

"Sometimes you bury yourself in past so deep and zealously, that it covers your ears and arguing with you becomes useless and even encouraging in some way. I hope the kicking will distract you." I grinned and lunged my staff at him.

He blocked without even moving his arm, just twisting a wrist for a little and stated in delightfully condescending manner "In a fair fight, you wouldn't get me in thousand years."

Fair fight for him it's a fight without magic. I tried to kick him again.

"I will kick you when you're being prejudiced too."

"Kick the air around my leg, you mean. Yes, that'll teach me."

"I'm thinking about adding arrogance to the list, but I'm afraid I would hurt my foot."

"Of course you would. You'd have to kick yourself constantly."

"Oh, come on, don't just stand there!" I waved my staff, he blocked without actual moving again "We could just mess around, like playing, it's fun!"

For a second his eyes were sad and helpless, and then he just turned away and walked to his jug with water. Rex had the same look when he was a pup and saw a big bone lying on the table that he couldn't reach. I sighed, while he drank and freshened up.

_Well, alright, too many joyful words, too soon, your broody nature can't stand them yet, I got it. _

"I meant to drop in Darktown, if you don't mind."

He shrugged and shook his head, water drops flying asunder from his wet hair, and this silly movement unexpectedly gave him almost boyish look for a moment. "I don't see why not. You've been dragging me there quite often already."

"It's just… I don't know if you would want to accompany me. I'm going to spread some rumors about Anders' cats."

The elf quirked his eyebrow skeptically, one corner of his mouth twisting down sourly at the sound of healer's name.

"You see, Anders is afraid that locals eat his cats. I want to tell folk that he laid some curse or spell on animals, so people would leave them be."

Fenris said calmly, as if it was matter of everyday business "Tell them that he feeds cats special herbs, which harmless to animals, but make their meat poisonous for humans."

"Wow."

"What?"

"Honestly, I wouldn't expect such ideas from you."

"It's a common… fashion in Tevinter. Though of course they use wildfowl, not cats." He saw my surprised look and added with that flat, hollow tone that his voice took when he spoke about his former master "Danarius would never eat anything before a special slave tastes it. Not me, though. I was too valuable investment to waste on mere poison. Three men died like that in my sight."

I swallowed and rubbed my neck. I still couldn't get used to the way he spoke about Tevinter. Even though he ran from it, it was his world. The only world he knew, the only way of thinking that he was taught. Still, he doesn't live by their rules. It would be easier for him to be a bandit, killer, to treat the world as it had been treating him – mercilessly and dirty, with an excuse of simple surviving. But he never hurts innocents, refuses Coterie's offers and tries to pay back for help. He's plain jerk toward mages, yeah, but he could easily sell us out to the templars or even kill and make it seem as if he had nothing to do with it – actions not just acceptable in the society he's used to, but plainly encouraged. He haven't still and not because he's not smart enough to think it through. He has his peculiar inborn sense of honor and dignity, and I can't imagine how he managed to keep it after being treated worse than a leashed dog for his whole life. He's cynical, desperate, defensive and explosive like a drunk dwarven bomber who's caught trying on a dress. He has every excuse to be a scumbag; still, he tries to be noble. Tripping and making mistakes the whole way, of course, but learning, and that's why I'm putting up with all his bitter angry crap.

"It should be something more impressive than just poisoning." I rolled my eyes thoughtfully and grinned "Like, crabs will pour out of his mouth!"

"Crabs?.."

"Yeah! What, you think crabs are not impressive enough? Well, maybe you're right, we should settle for spiders!"

"Who will believe in that idiocy?"

"Like Varric always says, the shittier bullshit, the more it's catchy. People will remember and tell each other! And I know I'd believe just about anything if you'd tell me it with your grim stony face. Just frown your black bushes of doom menacingly, like you always do when someone says that mages aren't evil."

Fenris turned around and walked away.

_Oh, great. Did he get offended because I insulted his eyebrows or because I implied that he's wrong about mages? _

"Assuming you'll go…" I muttered reluctantly, staring at his back.

_If it's because of eyebrows, don't mind it, I think they're cute anyway._

He picked up his chest-plate from the chair in the corner of the room and turned to me with that maddening sly grin of his.

"Telling people the mage is dangerous and they should stay away from him? Why wouldn't I go?"

I chuckled while he started fastening his armor.

"While you're at it, can you tell this to everyone who wants me to deal with their problems? Aveline says I should serve the city!"

"Oh?" He closed the last clasp and looked up at me with crooked eyebrow "They're lacking clowns?"

"Hey! You arrogant herring!"

He curled his lip with disgust, like every time when someone mentions something magical or fishy around him, and walked to the door. I followed him, grinning, feeling a little juvenile, but no less satisfied.

"Hey… So, you saw elephants?"

"I have this deed in the list of my achievements, yes."

"…what are they like? I never could quite picture them from the book's descriptions."

He thought about it for a second and looked at me.

"They're like dragons." He said with his serious face "If dragons had crumpled grey skin instead of scales, wings in place of ears and tail in place of nose."

Fenris smirked when I laughed

"I'm serious."

"Oh, sure! You just wanted to see if I'd really believe anything you say with the straight face."

"Undoubtedly this question had become my primal concern, but I _am_ telling you truth…"

_Screw that, at least when I'm around, I distract him from rubbing salt into his damn wounds.__ That's something._

* * *

><p><em>One year after the Deep Roads; summer day at the docks<em>

"Coming to the docks to eat chicken wings. It's a special level of perversion." Hawke accused the elf with mischievous reproach, opening and glancing in barrels around the remote from others berth. After long searches they finally managed to find among endless fish-stores small counter where something different was selling. Hawke bought those overroasted, peppered over any common sense wings too out of sympathy to Fenris's intolerance to fish, though it hardly helped. It doesn't take wolf's nose to sense the stink of rotten fish bowels all around. Still, he was strangely glad to be here.

He was grateful that she spent her time and efforts dragging him out of the mansion. It felt differently to see the world without desperate tension of constant fleeing.

"Just the same as looting through dirty barrels in Docks right after getting a fortune." He parried and sat at one of the barrels that Hawke already checked. She snorted with slightly embarrassed blush and hopped at another barrel with independent, proud look.

"There is can be a really good stuff sometimes! I found an Amulet of Ashes once."

"I wouldn't dare to doubt it."

She tried to kick him and almost fell from the barrel. He grinned and bitted his roasted wing. It was surprisingly good, with crispy crust and spices, which reminded of Imperium's food. Hawke took a couple of delicate bites and politely hid her disappointment.

"Elf! Get your lazy worthless ass to work instead of blabbing with that whore and…"

"Who?" Hawke turned to the dock worker, already at her feet and looking regally and mercilessly noble like a queen at the public execution – she had this look every time when someone insulted her in the way she doesn't deserve. The man quickly weighted up the rich material of seemingly simple dress, ancient enchanted necklace, the crest and immediately backed away

"My apology, Messere, I thought one of my workers was shirking his work again, you know how it's like with those knife-eared ba…"

Hawke took her dagger from the sheath at her hip and said coldly

"One more word and you'll be knife-eared, asshat."

He was smart enough to retreat silently and start shouting at stevedores at a safe distance.

"I can speak for myself." Fenris said flatly, when Hawke sat back at the barrel with indignant huff.

"He called me "whore"! Do you expect me to just sit there so your precious independence in matters of dealing with jerks won't be threatened?"

The elf sighed and returned to chewing at his chicken.

"I really don't get this 'racism' stuff anyway." Hawke muttered "Like, let's hate dwarves, what, just because they're short? Well, then why don't we hate our own children too? "

"Because they're less hairy and square?"

"Well, if judge by stereotypes like drunkenness, bad temper and lies then Gamlen is totally dwarf." Hawke said with a sour grimace, waving roasted wings around. Fenris finished his own and threw bones to her mabari. Rex caught them in the air, liquidated in one second and returned to his usual innocent 'Nothing happened, I deny everything' look.

The elf smirked at the dog and asked Hawke absently "You're going to?.."

She blinked at Fenris, glanced down at her barely touched food and held it out to him

"Oh, sure you can have it."

Even when he was on the run, he never asked for anything, even for food in the direst of days. He'd better pay or even steal, but never ask, because his pride wouldn't abide anything remotely close to begging. Still, it never felt this way with Hawke. She behaved with just the right combination of clarity, sarcasm and informality to never make her help seem like pity.

It was just so easy around her. Easy to stop searching for humiliating undertones or constantly fighting for simple right to have his own opinion. Easy to see the world not just as a constant threat. Easy to believe it's not too late. But also easy to get used to her, to start missing her, to wonder what it could be if…

Vishante, he knew it wasn't anything special to her. She spent no less time helping in Darktown clinic and possibly twice as long bullshitting with rogues. Still…

"So, where was I? Oh, right. But elves? What's the striking difference to hate? Seriously, there are many lop-eared skinny humans all around!"

"Lop-eared?"

Fenris could be inexperienced in relationships, but he was pretty sure it's not a term an interested woman would use. Not to mention "ridiculous", "bony" and "black eyebushes of doom".

"What, not? Just because your ears are pointy doesn't make them less sticking out. But funny ears are not a reason to call someone 'low race'. pffft."

And her list of preferences. What was in that? Brunettes and redheads. Blue eyes. And stubble, of course, because apparently male virility entirely depends on ability of growing hair at inappropriate places.

"Oh, no, wait, there's one thing that is downright weird about you, guys. What's wrong with shoes, ha?"

"Not this again."

"It makes me cringe just looking at how you walk barefoot at sharp stones, not to mention Darktown's streets."

"Go pester the blood mage about it. I'm sure she knows an ancient legend that dramatically explains that quirk and foretells its significant role in elven race's destiny."

"No, no, Merrill has way bigger issues to deal with. I'm not going to argue about fashion with the girl who thinks that blood magic is a friendship with poor demons and has a pet name for every one of her mirror shards."

He smirked, biting roasted wing.

"But you seem to have some sense in you…"

He looked up at her, raising eyebrows, and she quickly added

"I mean, occasionally. Don't you think in those rare moments of enlightenment 'What the hell is wrong with me'?"

_I think about it all the time, _he thought grimly and sighed "It's just… doesn't feel right this way."

"Hmmm. It's like cat's whiskers?"

"What?"

She tucked up one leg beneath her and started in her storyteller's tone, swaying her free leg mindlessly "We had a cat when I was kid. Once Carver, being smaller and even more dumb than now, cut its whiskers."

Her floor-length dress had a slit up to the thigh, so as she moved her leg, it would appear for a brief moment and then hide again under the dark-cherry skirt. Maddening. With women like Isabela it's simple and open by all means: everything that she has is in constant, somewhat honest display, you know you can get it without special effort. There is no idiotic tense waiting for such innocently simple thing like glimpse of the pale slender thigh. _Venhedis_. He bit the wing so hard that the bone cracked and he had to throw it to Rex.

"I had not yet discovered my magic, but I still kicked his ass. And poor cat was disorientated. Just… lost. Like it doesn't know what to do with herself. And just because of whiskers!"

He knew that to get Isabela he wouldn't need flowers. He has not even slightest idea what he needed to get Hawke, but was fairly certain flowers wouldn't work.

_I blame magic. Just on general principle. _

"Beth and I tended poor thing for like a month until whiskers grew back. I just thought maybe just like that you guys are uncomfortable with shoes because of decreasing of some sort of sensory receptors or…"

_Marvelous. I remind her of disabled animal. As if this whole foolish attraction wasn't pathetic enough. _

That was a moment when tension and bitter anger at himself finally boiled over the edge and he jerked up his head.

"Do not compare me with your pet!"

She sprung up to her feet and backed away as if she was hit "Fuck, are you serious? If you seriously think that I was implying that… Ugh, I'll just fucking leave and never…"

"No" he said quickly "I said it without thinking. I apologize."

_I just tired of fighting with feeling that I can be sure you won't hold a leash even if it__'s given voluntarily. I'm sick of running, but I'm afraid to stay, because I'm starting to trust you, dangerous, chaotic mage. _

She lifted her chin and studied him with that look of offended queen. For a second, he thought she'd just turn around and walk away. But she folded her arms, frowned and changed from royal to childish

"You prejudiced zander." She sighed "Alright, we both need to calm the hell down, so it's time to discover new delight of domestic magic – the awesome fruit ice!"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Hey, Isabela! I couldn't find you in the Hanged Man, so I have to count on your nosiness and <strong>__**depravity, because I guess it's the only things with which one can always be certain in your case. **_

_**Anyway, I want you to borrow me a dress. You take my clothes constantly and without any permission, so don't even try to argue. It should be the most suggestive, provocative and **__**indecent dress that woman can wear without actually showing her… er, treasures. Like, if a civil man meets a woman in this dress, he knows it would be just impolite to not sleep with her tonight. Well, you got the idea.**_

/

_Well, slap my ass and call me Betty, __is it finally happening? So you're the one to grow balls and make some move? That's about fucking time! I can't believe it took you so long! Tell you what – time for a slow progress with dresses and romantic stuff was over long ago, now it should be a cloak over the nakedness and one phrase: "My body is ready!" Got me? One phrase and don't let him fall into tragic monologues again. Oh, and don't use your usual "magical" lines, it'll ruin everything. So, happy flight for you, Hawke!_

_Varric, __where is my money?_

_/_

_**What in the name of Andraste's righteous leggings is that supposed to mean? **__**Did you get a rash in your brain?**_

_**My mother wants to introduce and marry me off to the Seneschal Bran's son. **__**I was like, "Whoa, yeah, bring that now! Dinner with two families!" I didn't even meet the poor bastard yet, but can you imagine what it would do to our Seneschal's arrogant, condescending, high-blooded ass to see his son being sassed by dirty mercenary like me? I'm gonna drown him in the filthiest, tasteless peasant jokes until Bran goes into frenzy and rips his perfumed doublet at his chest.**_

_**And what are you talking about? Where is my dress?**_

_**/**_

_Pha-ha-ha, Rivaini! No money for you. It's not like I don't think those two are blind idiots, but ha-ha at you anyway. _

/

_Spoilsport. Ugh, okay, I'll give you a dress__, so you can bullshit with some poor guy, instead of, you know, having an incredibly hot sex. But I'm so disappointed, I can't even think of comparison for it. _

_/_

_As I a __renowned storyteller, I feel obligated to help you out with your metaphors, Rivaini. So how exactly disappointed are you? Maybe as if after vicious storm you were saved by a beautiful maiden, who returned you to life with a sweet magical kiss, but then you realized she's a fish from her waist down? Or as if you finally seduced one handsome prince, got him in the bed and suddenly found a chastity belt, and the Grand Cleric herself has a key? Or maybe as if you couldn't forget an incredible night with a ferelden prostitute and dashing apostate with kinky "electrical" tricks, but when you met him again, he was possessed by a virtue-promoting spirit?_

/

_**You two roguish bastards, stop pouring your dirty fantasies into my personal journal! **__**Varric, if you can't keep them for yourself, go write another damn book and be over with that!**_

_**Isabela, take your dress, I don't need it anymore. Mother managed to notice it before the dinner, realized my vile sassy plans and **__**concealed the whole event. She said she washes her hands of it and now I'm on my own in searching for a decent husband. She's just going to wait and brace herself for a scandal. **_

_**Oh, and Isabela, return my clothes – all of them, and mage's robes and hat too. I don't want to know for what "roleplaying" you needed them, just bring everything washed twice. Twice, I said.**_

* * *

><p><em>Two years and <em>_three months after the Deep Roads; third attempt to find Isabela's relic_

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Hawke, I didn't want to... Oh, sorry..."

For a second I looked up from wet shards in my hands at Merrill, silently wishing her to shut up. But since I was neither blood mage nor even adept of Entropy, the elf didn't get the message and doubled efforts in her bewailing.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry, Hawke, I'm not guilty, I mean, it wasn't my intention, oh, sorry, I'm so clumsy... For once you brought me with you and all I brought to you are troubles and loss..."

_Did she learned these over-dramatics from Anders or it's something in the air?_

I sighed deeply and returned my attention to the shards. We were at Sundermount, seeking the Isabela's relic in caves, but found only the group of Tal-Vashoth. As if it wasn't enough, Merrill managed to break all her bottles with lyrium potions. And since in morning I gave her the majority of them in our group's supplies, because they're light and she wastes her mana way faster than me, now we had only 3 bottles that I carried and the whole Merrill's bag, flooded with lyrium and shattered glass.

_What is that with elves and broken bottles, huh?_

So now I was trying to extract all shards from the bag and save as much loot as possible before it gets soaked with potions, Merrill was lamenting and apologizing around helplessly, Fenris breathed down my neck with the whole rant about "foolish dependence on magic" written over his face and Isabela openly devoured him with invocatory gaze, almost wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. She was so demandingly expressive that the elf distracted from drilling holes in my head and asked dryly

"You keep staring at me. Is it my eyes again?"

_Phuh. I can say that it's certainly not your eyes she's drooling for. Though it's hard to tell for what exactly, since there's quite a wide choice..._

"You're very lanky, for an elf. I like lanky."

I shook off wet and apparently ruined now enchanted belt and gritted my teeth. "Famous elven grace and dexterity, my non-elegant human ass." I muttered grimly, provoking new series of excuses from Merrill.

"From what I gather, you like a lot of things."

_Does he answer to her flirting? Really? I mean, seriously?.. Jeez, I hope they won't discuss their nightly festivities like her and Anders, when they got nostalgic about Denerim's brothel..._

"Maker's odorous garlic belch..."

"Nonsense. But when I see something I like, I go after it."

_A-ha, please, be so kind and go after him somewhere far from me. Well, maybe Isabela really needs a bath and regular observation of her intimate zones by healer, but she has nothing to do with magic. It's everything that matters, right? _

"Andraste's swollen purple wart on her left holy buttock..."

"I suggest keeping your distance."

_Huh?.. Hmmm. Heh... Not as if I'd care anyway, of course. Why would I?_

"Now you're just making it challenging."

This time the elf didn't condescend to answer and the pirate pouted at me.

"Hawke! Your grumbling ruins the romantic mood. Why are you fussing over nothing?"

I huffed indignantly and shoved the wet stuff at her

"Nothing? I was going to make good money out of those things! And besides, now I'm out of potions for myself and I'd prefer to face qunari with barrel of them."

"Wait." Fenris frowned, stepping forward "You're going to give your own potions to the blood mage?"

I narrowed my eyes "Blood mage or not, Merrill has a smaller reserve of mana and less of battle experience. She needs them."

"She can just slit her wrists." He stated with cold despise and I stepped to him and poked finger at his chest.

"Oh, sure! I'm trying to keep her from it since her arrival in Kirkwall and you're helping so much with your blind judgment. If she _can _use blood magic, it doesn't mean that she _must_."

"Woohooo!" Isabela clasped her hands cheerfully "Good old fights over nothing, yay! You two were repulsively friendly after the Deep Roads; I started to miss sexual tension in the air."

The both of us ignored her, being accustomed to such comments like a tired family with marasmic shameless grandmother, who wants to be the matchmaker.

"Give blood mage a potion once, next time he'll demand your blood and then – life." Fenris twitched the corner of his mouth, lifting his lip for a little, probably for illustration of which fang Merrill is going to use to suck all blood out of me.

"She still can change her path and I'm not going to encourage her to sink deeper!"

"Not everything can be fixed up. You can't turn monster into an innocent again."

I could tell him plenty of things. That he just projects his own fears at everything. That stamping others as monsters does not give him an excuse for giving up hope for himself. That he believes he's broken beyond repair just so he wouldn't need to change anything and try to come out of his damn shell.

I knew him well enough to aim a strike that will hurt. To hit him right into his cherished always-bleeding scars.

But, being big soft 'Of course I will help you, random citizen' idiot, I just tried to kick him in the shin instead. He dodged as always.

Oh well, at least I made a point.

"Aw, don't be upset over it, kitten. Nobody thinks you're a monster." Isabela protectively embraced Merrill's shoulders, who looked as if she ws about to start crying and before Fenris could object as he clearly intended, finished calmly "It's just his awkward, grumpy way to express his concern for Hawke."

Fenris shut his mouth with almost audible clank.

"I still can't see the problem. You have lyrium at legs near you. Just lick him."

I snorted and prepared to retort something sarcastic back, but suddenly some part of my mind wondered with almost aloofness - _Really, what would it taste like? _

"Bitter" was the first association with him, maybe even with metallic tinge. But this smooth skin had a shade of melted caramel that parents brought for me in childhood, viscid and sweet. His skin was lighter and thinner where the markings laid, like streams of spilled milk. Do they feel and taste differently?..

_Jeez! Did Isabela bite me in my sleep?_

"I suppose I should be grateful you didn't suggest biting me." Fenris muttered with a sour crooked grin.

_Say something or Isabela will never let you live it down!_

"Bwah! I bet you're stringy and tough like a moose."

Yep, not a fibre of fat, just taut, sharply chiseled knots of muscles under the tan skin...

_Really, what's wrong with you? It's not like you didn't have a man for weeks to start drooling over__… over Fenris, for the Maker's sake! He thinks you're just vessel for the demon!_

"That's why we Dalish have a special recipes for cooking wild animals. With our marinades tough meat turn into a tender… "

"Thank you for another wonderful romp into the Dalish culture, Merrill, but we will not marinade Fenris."

"I am relieved." He said wryly and I gave him mockingly ceremonial nod.

"Oh, I didn't mean that, of course, I'm sorry, I…"

"Hush, kitten, it's alright."

"Fine, let's move on, guys." I said and as we started walking, I caught up with the warrior.

"Fenris, I hope you understand that in those dire circumstances we must resort to unusual tactics."

"Why do I have feeling this is going to be one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard? Oh, right, because it's always like that with your plans."

"We should ambush them. You'll go to the cave with qunari alone, say them something really offensive in the Qun, so they'll flip their shit and run after you. And you'll lure them into the place where I and girls will be waiting with traps."

"Oh, splendid! That's why Hawke is a leader; this girl's just a tactical genius!" Isabela wedged herself in between us, enthusiastically clasping her hands "Though I have a constructive addition. To make it even more offensive, you should drop your pants and slap your ass! Mmmm, come to think of it, if you'll do it, you don't even have to insult them. They'll run after you anyway…"

"Nice try." The elf said flatly with his 'I'm sooo not amused' scowl.

"No, no, bad plan. This way I'll be alone in the ambush and it's not how it should work."

"Huh? Why alone?" Isabela crooked her eyebrow at me and I smirked

"Because Merrill has a bag full of shards and you know she's too obsessed with those things to pay attention to anything else and you'll run off to look at that ass."

"You can run off with me, Hawke. I know you're curious too. "

"I have enough of this." Fenris said mildly. "I guess I'll have to walk first or you'll block the path when you faint at the sight of qunari."

"Hey! I'm not afraid of those stupid goatheads!"

"Undoubtedly. That's why you displayed unbelievable heights of oratory arts at the meeting with the Arishok."

"Sure, I couldn't get in a single word because _you_ wouldn't shut up! I was about to just leave you lovebirds alone."

"By running away in terror?"

Maker's drool, and I was trying not to hurt this bastard's feelings just a few minutes ago? He found my only… subject of disturbance and is going to kick it till it bleeds. I puffed out my cheeks, frowned brows, made horns with my fingers and glared at him.

"What is qunari word for 'asshole'?"

"Striking similarity. Now qunari will mistake you for one of them with this clever disguise." He grinned, walking past me. "When you'll crawl into a corner, try to not beckon too many of enemies."

I stuck out tongue at his back "You arrogant cod!" Fenris didn't answer, just walking forward.

"Why is he smiling?" Isabela whispered thoughtfully and somewhat accusingly, staring at his back.

"What?"

"He hides smile every time he glances at you. How are you doing it?"

_He does?_

"Well, make faces at someone constantly and he'll get used to grin every time he looks at you."

"No, it's not even grins. You'd be a better player in cards if you knew that there's difference between grins and true smiles…"

"And smirks! And difference between smirks and smiles is different from difference between grins and smiles, but there's also difference between grins and smirks…"

_Thank you, Merrill. Maker bless your tactless, disorientated soul.__ I should bring her with me at every supposedly awkward conversation._

Still, whatever Isabela is trying to imply…

I have to be honest with myself: of course I like him. He's brilliant, sharp, honest and downright charming when he forgets to hate my guts. And after all this time I think against my better judgments I started to like his look.

I like his ruffled shock of hair with strands of different length; it suits him. I guess he isn't aware that he's supposed to use mirror when he trimmers them and he does it only when he can't see anymore. I like his stubborn, determined chin; I love to tease him about it when I demand him to prove his "elvishness", because almost all other elves have rounded, not set forth chins. I like his black eyebrows; he can express with them three-paged rant with historical references and ironic metaphors or make a woman blush. And I still can't quite comprehend that after all atrocities and torments he's been through, there is still sun in his eyes when he smiles. And not bright blinding light, but soft and elusive, like sunshine through the foliage. I mean, it's just intriguing, how does he manage to smile like that and still be kind of jerk.

* * *

><p><em>Two years and eleven months after the Deep Roads; regular check-up of the Bone Pit mines<em>

"Oh, this is truly malicious place! The horror becomes even more insufferable because I can't sense anything myself. Fenris, do your sharp elven senses register foul winds again?"

Importunate gusts of the air which Hawke, who walked behind him, was sending, persistently ruffled his hair. She'll never let him live down that comment about "curse" of this place. Fenris sighed quietly.

"What, it's so bad that you can't even speak? Oh, don't be afraid, you're so bony that any living skeleton will take you for his kind."

"Then you don't need to fear invasion of pyromaniac clowns."

Isabela and Varric, who usually could help to change the subject, now walked few steps ahead together, with enthusiasm discussing something that could relate to anything from weapons to intimate matters. And since descriptions like "hook-shaped" and "multi-holed" were slipping out, Fenris wouldn't want to know the truth in both cases.

Hawke walked behind him, harassing him and making up absurd scary tales about Bone Pit. In one of her versions, mines were named like this because somewhere here lays the giant bone with pit in it.

"Can you feel how the terror sinks under your skin? Can you feel how icy shivers of fear run down your spine?.."

Indeed, he could feel a cold sensation sliding down through the gap in his vest, though he doubted it had anything to do with this place.

"I thought you didn't like when your magic is called "fear" and "terror".

In one swift motion he turned around and caught Hawke's hand, cold and stretched out towards him. She gasped in surprise and in trembling light of distant torches he could see how widened her eyes.

"I tried… to use… understandable for you… terms…" She almost panted, trying to pull her hand away, without any success. Rogues, deep in their conversation, were quite far away already and without their torches he couldn't see her face, but he could imagine tense anger and resentful confusion. This brief feebleness was a little revenge for all her endless mocking. For all that she was a powerful mage, in close range confrontation she was no match for him.

He felt how slender her aristocratic wrist was under his iron gauntlet and suddenly thought that she may be hurt. In last years he got used to her light healing touches and now for the first time he was concerned that his touch could bring her pain. He unclenched his grasp, but she didn't jerk her hand away. She was hidden in the darkness, but her voice was unexpectedly soft.

"Your hands are cold."

He could remind her that it was because of her frost magic, but his mouth was glued shut. He knew he had to pull away. Her fingers were so warm, just natural, soothing warmth of her own skin without any spells and he stood still and silent like a stone.

"Seriously, you have to wear gloves at least." Her fingers slid up and found fastenings of his gauntlet that cut into his skin. "This thing must chafe like Andraste's laced garters."

"I'm used to it." He said it just because he had to say something, and his voice was hoarse and almost breathless. She pressed her fingertips to his own lightly, her delicate hand hid in his bare palm.

It was the first actual touch they shared not borne of necessity. Just a weightless sensation of skin against skin. He knew it was normal for her. Nothing special – she hugged and nudged her friends constantly. She kept the distance only with him and now, when he broke it himself, it was just natural for her to linger the touch. It's natural for normal people. Normal people don't shrink away when someone gets closer than the sword's length.

"You're used to a lot of a bad stuff."

He wanted to pull her closer. He didn't need to see her to know how she would lean against his chest and his free hand would circle her waist. He knew that to find her lips he wouldn't need any light besides the shining of wild blazes in her eyes.

He couldn't even interlace their fingers because of sharp claws of his gauntlet. All he could do was just stand there like a helpless fool, staring in the darkness, mad at himself and trying to savour this elusive soft feeling of her narrow palm and tapering fingers in his hand. He was glad she couldn't see his eyes.

"Guys! Are you arguing again? Really, can you solve global, metaphysical problems of magic somewhere not in the cursed mines?"

They both started and shrunk away from each other like two scalded frogs.

"Sure, Varric, announce yourself louder, so all dragons and ghooooosts would know that we're here!" Hawke shouted even louder than the rogue and went down the caves. Fenris followed her, hiding his thoughts behind his usual calm veneer of indifference.

"You should've told me you need someone to hold your hand when you're afraid." She said in her normal sarcastic tone "It's okay, you don't have to pounce and catch my wrist for it."

"I've mistook you for a living skeleton. Is it some kind of your japes when you call me "bony" if your hands are just bare bones, covered with skin?"

"Pffft! Skeletons don't have skin."

"Well, you could be a skeleton in gloves."

She laughed "You can't be too suspicious, yeah?"

"Careful."

"Oh, suuuure…"

"Guuuuuuuys!"

They walked side by side; both desperately trying not to accidently touch each other, but so close that he could feel how she sways the air, swinging her hands as she walked.

He closed his fingers slowly, but now there was nothing but hollowness.


	9. And help me understand the best I can

__Many thanks again to Scarletstar20 for beta-reading.__

* * *

><p><strong>But something stirs and something tries And starts to climb towards the light<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>That was… somewhat shocking, I suppose. I'm actually surprised Fenris managed to hide it so well for so long. I mean, you would never think of it if you didn't know. Actually, he makes the opposite impression.<strong>_

_**/**_

_Hawke, what are you talking about? Fenris managed to hide what? He has lacy underwear? He wears a wig? He's a human? He's a woman? He's *gasp* a mage? Hey, don't leave me hanging!_

_/_

_No wonder you still can't find information about your treasure with those pathetic investigating skills, Rivaini. I, for example, know exactly what she's talking about._

_/_

_Boo. _

_If he wears a wig, I'll be disappointed._

* * *

><p>Pies. He managed to casually dismiss me when I tried to talk about books, kept wrangling with Anders about his manifestos, made Aveline believe that he knows the code of law, but blundered into pies.<p>

Fenris stared at the counter with severe concentration, like a serpent-charmer at the particularly insolent snake.

"Hey? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I am."

He clearly wasn't, because he abruptly grabbed a pie from a basket labeled as "fish". I raised my eyebrows and tried to meet his eyes.

"What, is this a day of self-destruction? Are you feeling not miserable enough?"

Fenris quickly put the pie back, took one from another basket and glanced at me as if checking for right reaction.

"Really, what's the matter? You stared at those labels for like eternity, how did you manage to get it wrong?"

He hesitated for a moment and said slowly.

"I couldn't… Slaves are not permitted to read. I've never learned."

There's one interesting thing about Fenris that I really appreciate – he can try to avoid a sore subject, he can shut up about it like a mute qunari, but he never lies. So when he says something, it's either truth or sarcastic nonsense to let you know he doesn't want to talk about it. And this time I took a wrong pick.

I laughed and pointed finger at him "Phuh, that's a good one!"

He glared at me and, oh boy, marry me to the Templar if that expression wouldn't get him a Grand Prix at any scowl championship instantly.

"Nah, you're not seriously expecting me to believe this, right? It's probably just another bet with Varric. Come on, you know a bit just about everything and four darn languages and you're telling me you can't read? I'm soooo not buying it!"

"Do you really think they teach slaves to read?" he growled, narrowing his eyes.

"You haven't been a slave for years! Oh, you still insist? Okay, hold on for a second…" I retrieved my journal from my bag and looked through it. "Where was it?.. Oh, here we go!"

I handed him the journal, opened at Isabela's nonsense. _That_ he won't be able to ignore. "This paragraph, from "Perish the thought".

Fenris cast a glance at it, but when he raised his eyes, there wasn't surprise or indignation as I expected. Just defensiveness and genuine, bitter pain "And what am I supposed to find there? Reminding of something I can never do?"

That's when I finally believed him, but I didn't manage to come up with something more tactful than to stare at him with open mouth "Ugh, crap, no way…"

No way can someone make arguments so logical and well-founded, have such vocabulary and wide range of knowledge, including religion and history, and not know how to read! Maker's hic, I've been embarrassed every time when he casually mentioned another fact I didn't know, but now it turned out he learned everything without being able to read? Come on, he even knows the origin of the Bone Pit mines. I didn't, and I lived in Kirkwall for the whole year and _own_ half of the damn mines! Not to mention that he speaks Tevinter, Common, elven, the Qun and Maker knows what else. I always gave him a credit for being observant and sharp, but to get everything literally out of the air… Having mind so quick and tenacious, memory so retentive and wasting all of it on brooding and eating himself up? That's a crime! That's…

"That's a shame!" The moment I said it, I knew it was the worst choice of words possible, but he didn't give me time to rephrase.

"Am I not learning your ways quickly enough to suit you? Really, what a disgrace!"

"I didn't mean it! I wanted to say, I can teach you…"

"Is that what it is? Let's teach the poor slave to read?"

"Argh! Stop saying the opposite of what I mean!"

"Let me release your noble presence of my disgusting sight" he spat and stormed away.

"Wait! Ugh, bloody idiot! We're not done, do you hear me? "

_Congratulations! You screwed this up royally. _

His temperament is like the ruins of an ancient palace – it seems all quiet and stately and even somewhat fascinating, but then you step on the hidden trap and boom – you're smashed against the wall, doused in acid, and covered in batshit knocked loose from the rafters!

I have to admit, this time it was completely my fault. He was quite civil before I started openly jeering at him. I guess he would have agreed quite easily if I'd showed a bit more tact and less obnoxiousness. I don't think that problem is the difficulty of reading or something technical. But even if years of slavery didn't break him, they taught him to hate and think less of himself. They left scars in his mind that were maybe even deeper than lyrium markings. What was Flemeth's phrase I mocked? "The chains are broken, but are you truly free?"

Yeah, he clearly isn't, but I didn't think it wasn't only apparent in his hate of mages and defensiveness. It seems he also has many personal barriers, cleverly hidden until I smack right into them.

_And half of them are about confidence and self-respect, so of course you just have to mock him about it now, when he started to kind of trust and respect you at last. _

Ugh. Fine, fine, I was a bit of a tool. Are we going to just brood about it in his honor or actually do something?

_You'll have to come up with some really strong arguments. "You're an idiot" clearly doesn't work. Alright, what do we have here?_

His world is a minefield with dire lack of resources, where surviving and waiting for the attack are just as natural as breathing. And it's normal for him; he can vaguely imagine that there are probably other ways of living, but clearly for someone else, not him. That's why he's so mad at everyone, especially mages, who blames pressure and circumstances for their crimes: his universe wants him to die, the earth is burning under his feet and the sky is about to fall down. So what, it's just the way the life is, if you can't deal with it, go to the Circle, where your weak whiny ass won't be a danger for others.

He knows how to wring water out of stones and how to get stones out of someone else's kidneys, and he'll go on with it even if you get him a clear spring. He handles his luxurious mansion as if it's a Lowtown hovel. He feels just fine in critical uncommon situations; he'll stay calm and objective in front of insane maniac who kills kids. While everyone else would just blab in disgust, fear or pity; he would make a rational, cold-blooded decision and even execute it, if you don't have guts to do the right thing yourself. But try to involve him in normal social interaction and you'll get an agony of an electric ray out of water and a few burns if you happened to stand nearby of the thrashing tail.

So I can try to move reading from reserved for free-born people excesses list to useful for easier surviving skills and make him see that without it he can end up out of water again. I should be careful, though. I have to be annoying enough, but still harmless and silly to not provoke open aggression.

Maker's corn, I'm gonna end up with my nose punched through the back of my skull. And I won't even have a right to complain!

* * *

><p>He didn't see Hawke for three days, but there still was a tense feeling in his throat when she walked up to him slowly. He knew he had no right to be mad at her. He remembered that day in the Deep Roads, when he waited for any signs of her disgust at the sight of the scars at his back. But there was just healing warmth and he foolishly let this craving for acceptance to worm its way through his defenses. He should have never let her close, but he kept coming to her, hating himself for that.<p>

But of course it's not in her character to judge people by anything physical; intelligence and education is what matters to her. The most bitter was the thought that she'll never see him as an equal again. She won't take him seriously anymore. Why would she listen to arguments of an illiterate fool?

Hawke took a deep breath and said quickly "Hey, before you punch me through the wall, I have a few words. I acted like a tactless rabid monkey, I'm sorry. Really."

He sighed and opened his mouth to answer, but she held up her hands "Wait, I prepared a speech, so just let me spill it out. Honestly, I never wanted to establish any kind of moral superiority. I certainly do not think that lack of some skill degrades a person, especially in your circumstances. I just was surprised that you were able to reach your level of intelligence without that skill. That was a compliment, by the way. "

He sighed tiredly. _Venhedis._ He could accept the chasm between them, build fortified walls of reasonable arguments and then find her inside, somehow ignoring all of it.

_I don't have enough nerve for this._

"I was not behaving properly myself. You are not responsible for my deficiencies. I…" He decided to keep it polite and indifferent, but with Hawke even if you can sometime manage first, last is nearly impossible.

"What? Deficiencies? Oh, bullshit! It's not fucking wings; you don't have to be born with it! You learn it!"

"Of the all things I wasn't born with, now I need ear-plugs."

"Come on! Let me teach you! You'll like it, I promise!"

"You said it about that stew in Lowtown too."

"Really, it's useful. One of the very few ways to get Varric distracted in the middle of the Wicked Grace is to criticize his books, I guarantee you. "

He just folded his arms silently. Even if she wasn't condescending, he still wasn't going to accept help out of pity or sense of guilt over being tactless for a minute. Hawke flung up her hands and rolled her eyes.

"Jeez. Sure, all family's reserve of wisdom and persuasion went to my cousin. Ravyl manages to unite the whole country and replace the king, and I can't convince one elf that I'm competent enough to teach him reading. No, no, it's alright. Each to his own, that's fair. I have dirty stupid tricks to compensate my lack of charisma."

_It is not going anywhere pleasant._

"So, you have last chance to save dignity of both of us. No? Figures."

She sighed and then suddenly pointed her finger somewhere over his shoulder.

"Look, boobs!"

He just raised his eyebrow at her and she explained with awkwardly wide smile

"You were supposed to turn around."

"I got that."

"Damn, it always works with Carver…"

Then something shattered loudly behind his back and he immediately turned on bare reflexes, reaching for his sword, but saw only Rex, Hawke's mabari, cheerfully wiggling his tail over the shards of the fallen vase. At this moment he felt a light push at the back and faced Hawke, taking off a piece of paper with something written on it.

"And what is _that_?"

"Well, it's my thoughts about you without any censorship. Like, all horrible truth and accusations. But oh, what a pity, you can't answer because you just can't read it!"

He stared at her in disbelief for a few seconds, then closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, reminding himself that he decided to act civilly this time.

"Really? This is your plan?"

She shrugged with lop-sided grin "I warned you it's gonna be stupid."

* * *

><p>One time in the Hanged Man, when he felt familiar push at the shoulder, he pretended that he didn't notice Hawke walking past him, and came up to Varric's table. Dwarf looked up from the cards in his hands and grinned<p>

"Oh, here you are! We have to wait a bit for others to join and… Hey, you have something at your shoulder."

Fenris made a surprised look and shrugged with calculated negligence, so scrap of paper fell right at the table before Varric. Like the elf expected, rogue grabbed it immediately

"What is that?.."

"Hawke invented another foolish amusement, labeling me with insults."

"So it's not the first one?"

Fenris silently got another pieces from the pocket at his belt. It wasn't good to let Varric put his nose into this, but at least he'll finally know what was written there. But strangely, the dwarf didn't start declaring it out loud and commenting. He read them with raised eyebrows and opened mouth, then looked up at the elf with bewilderment and suspicion in his eyes.

"So, what's there this time?" Fenris asked, tense, but trying to sound nonchalantly.

Varric examined him for a few moments and then broke into a wide smile, as if he just made a conclusion that amused him to no end.

"No, no, I won't say it out loud. It's too dirty, I'm going to blush. But it's really… innovated insults, would you mind if I write them down for… "

"I would." Fenris growled, snatching scraps out of Varric's hands. The dwarf just chuckled, returning to shuffling cards.

* * *

><p>The next time Hawke tried to stick another piece of paper at his back, his anger finally boiled up through the mask of indifference. He turned to her abruptly, that old feeling of being helplessly harassed causing his markings to flare up. Fenris stopped moving, hovering just above her, with his hand raised, because he realized he didn't know what he would do next. Take away this paper and tear it to pieces like a senile hysteric? Run away from a few written words? Catch her wrist, shake her, hit her like a cornered wounded animal that tries to escape?<p>

"What do you want of me?" He growled, so close to her face he could see his own reflection in her widened eyes. "Do you want a funny toy to play with? Or you think my debt is not great enough and you need to deepen it? Or can you simply not pass up a chance to play the noble savior of a pathetic slave?"

She swallowed, but didn't back away or turn her gaze.

"What? Jeez, no! It's not about me! If you have someone else with whom you will feel comfortable, then great, go ahead, I'll leave you be. You think I'm so confident myself? Maker's balls, no! Actually, I'm certain that I'm gonna be an awful teacher! Just terrible. I don't have methods and patience, but I do have stupid sense of humor and… Alright, I think it's pretty obvious why. With someone else I wouldn't even try, but you're brilliant. I'm sure you'll get it even with my incompetence."

When he thought about it later, taking break from trying to make sense out of seemingly meaningless signs, he realized that it wasn't even the compliment that disarmed him, but the way she said it.

It wasn't encouragement or reserved hope. It didn't sound like an appeal or challenge. It wasn't also overrated expectations; she didn't expect him to be faultless. She said "brilliant" as a matter-of-fact, and after years of being reduced to self-esteem of a trained animal Fenris couldn't betray someone who for once had faith in him. When he felt helpless or that entire situation seemed to be too pathetic, her confidence and sincerity didn't let him give up. His desperation often boiled up his temper, demanding to send her off, but even in those moments of weakness he couldn't find a justified excuse. There wasn't anything to rebel against. She had no personal gain and she didn't even mock him. Actually, when they were stuck at something, Hawke blamed herself.

"I can't explain simple things." She muttered once, rolling her eyes desperately. "Oh my, this is so embarrassing. I'm like a dog. I know what I want to say, but I can't put it into coherent words. My mabari is better at expressing thoughts that I am. Oh Maker, I'm so useless."

She sighed and smacked her forehead against the desk.

"Don't do that..."

"Don't comfort me; I know I suck." she said, still not lifting her head.

"Don't do it, you're ruining my furniture."

She straightened up, laughing, and kicked at his shin. He pulled his leg away, and she hit the chair instead.

"Ouch!"

"I told you to stop beating my furniture."

"You mean the few of it that survived your excellent care-taking?"

Hawke wasn't a good teacher, truly. In the end, it was her attitude that made the difference. For the first time, someone bothered to think about him as a person. She worked just as hard as he did and never once showed regrets that she had offered her help. And when he managed to read the whole paragraph right on the first try, the open pride in her smile suddenly made the struggle all worth it.

After some point that he didn't quite catch, it stopped being a maddening torment. Reading stopped taking effort, letters that always were a privilege of "higher" beings started to form words fast and naturally. It felt almost overwhelming. Everything that he had caught in snatches of conversation and good luck was now relatively readily available.

He read about countries through which he ran before and then told Hawke about them, comparing his experience and books descriptions. She listened with wide shining eyes, asking questions and holding her breath when she was especially excited. She dreamed about travel, it was obvious, and for her he tried to remember interesting details that weren't described in the books. And somehow it turned out, there really was not just desperation, fear and hate in his memory. His grim past suddenly filled with colors and he could finally appreciate everything that didn't matter before, because it wasn't important for survival.

For the first time after his escape, he finally had something he didn't want to lose.

* * *

><p>"Fenris, it's a quill, not a sword. You're not gonna stab paper with it, change the angle. Yeah, that's more… Oh Maker, again."<p>

"Venhedis."

"It's not a mage's neck, don't clutch it so much. It won't write more smoothly, it would just break."

"I know."

I bit my lip to hide a smirk. There was so severe, focused anger in his glare that I wouldn't be surprised if a paper flares up. Well, at least now our problem is a technique, not understanding, so I can joke around.

"I can't read that. It's a trail of convulsing dying caterpillar, not letters. No, no, you're not supposed to make a puddle and spread ink at the paper. Just keep it at the quill."

"Easy for a mage to say."

"Oh, come on, it takes the right angle, not force magic." I sighed, rolling my eyes, and without thought covered his hand with mine "Let me just show, like that…"

Then I realized what I just did and panicked, because sudden physical contact with Fenris often provokes his "glow up and punch through" reflex. But he just inhaled sharply and tensed, his knuckles whitening.

_O-okay, as long as he doesn't flip tables I guess we're good. Act calm, like you know what you're doing._

"Easy there. Don't use your strength. It's just unfair for a poor little quill, you know…"

I remembered that day in the Bone Pit mines, our touch, which lingered for much longer than I would expect from him. Very lightly, I stroked his skin, felt how his stiff fingers slowly relaxed and for a short moment I thought that we're both just anxious idiots, afraid to scare each other away. And if I'd just intertwine our fingers now…

_What in the name of all that sane are you doing? You want him to think that you helped him just to get in his pants?_

That's nonsense, I don't want…

_Then write something - something really short – and back off!_

Suddenly, I felt his warm breath at my cheek and realized that he turned and looked at me. But nope, no way I'll stare back at those damn gorgeous eyes when we're so close. Carefully, I put his fingers in the right position and lead his hand. When there was crooked, but readable "_sun_" at the paper, I let go and moved aside, still avoiding his gaze.

"See, that was easy, wasn't it? So just…"

"Hawke" he said abruptly, and husky sound of his deep voice made me look up at him. We still were too awkwardly close and under his intense, searching eyes I felt caught.

"Yeah?" I tried to sound nonchalantly and smiled.

"What…" he stopped for a second, titling his head towards me for a bit, and I licked my lips involuntarily. _Damn it! _"What was on those papers that you were shoving at me?"

"I don't remember taking them away."

"I… liquidated them accidentally." He shrugged with a short, wry grin.

_Hah, I knew I could count on his short temper!_

"Well, then maybe you were just not destined to see them." I said with fake solemnity, smiling all widely and innocently to relieve the tension, and trying to not let my gaze slide to his lips. He stared at me for another second, his eyes darkening, and then turned to a table, dipped the quill in the bottle of ink and wrote with legible letters right under our "_sun_"

"_Perhaps it was never meant for me._"

Oh, jeez. You're being overdramatic again, aren't you?

"Did I get it right?" He asked, turning to me with a crooked eyebrow and tense, bitter smirk.

_Well, I don't know what other, undoubtedly dreary, things you were implying there, but those two lines together already look pretty depressing, and I'm not playing in your brooding games. _

I took the quill, wrote next to his sentence "_hairbrush_" and stared back at him.

He raised his eyebrows for a second, but then shook his head and chuckled shortly.

I couldn't fight a smile, looking in his lightened eyes. "We have to do something with those broken quills. I suggest adding them to your armor as trophies. You can't have too many feathers on your gauntlets, am I right?"

* * *

><p><em>Strangers passing in the street<em>  
><em> By chance two separate glances meet<em>  
><em>And I am you and what I see is me<em>  
><em> And do I take you by the hand<em>  
><em> And lead you through the land<em>  
><em> And help me understand the best I can<em>


	10. I hope you have found a friend

_Yep, I'm gonna move on to the next act already, but Satinalia is a holiday of pranks and fools, so it fits my Hawke too perfectly to ignore it. __Thanks again to Scarletstar20 for beta-reading.___

* * *

><p><strong>I know who I want to take me home<strong>

_The First Year_

One morning Hawke showed up in his mansion dressed in the light scarlet dress, clearly not intended for a battle, and with her black hair not in the lousy ponytail that she usually made, but falling in free soft waves.

"Hey. It's Satinalia!" She said, smiling radiantly "There is a festival at the square. Come with me?"

"Just us?" Fenris asked with slight surprise. She waved her hand dismissively.

"Well, everyone else is busy or thinks it's too silly… I know, I know, you probably think it's nonsense too, but hey, it is the Day of Fools! I thought it's special for two of us."

He shrugged after a short pause, appreciating the irony. It wasn't t like he had anything better to do and, besides, she was so beautifully joyous today that he could look at her if the festival was boring. He nodded his consent and moved to follow, but at the threshold she turned to him, frowning, and held up her hands.

"Wait, wait, no! Leave those horrendous clawed gauntlets at home for at least today. It's a holiday! Fun, joy, festival, you know. You shouldn't go preparing to rip someone's guts out. Just the sword is more than enough. Besides, even if we get into trouble, you can fight without them just as fine."

His nose wrinkled in derision.

"It's foolish! I won't discard a piece of protection!"

Hawke put her hands on her hips, but the smile never left her face.

"Oh, come on! You fight on a regular basis with your arms bare from elbow to shoulder, and I honestly don't know how you still have all of your toes, considering all places where you go barefoot. Those gauntlets won't make such a difference when we are out celebrating a _holiday_! "

"The situation doesn't matter; there is always possibility for the slavers to attack!"

"Oh please, you're not protecting yourself; you're just hiding from the world behind those all those pointy spikes. You don't need them to be confident and capable!"

"It seems you lack an understanding of the purpose of armor. To hide from the world, people use doors. Let me demonstrate!" he snarled and slammed the door in her face.

"Argh! You're bloody…Ouch!" he heard how she kicked the door from the other side.

"I'm not going anywhere! Stop acting like a panicked hedgehog already!"

After a minute of silence Fenris quietly looked through the window. Hawke sat at the steps, playing with her gold bracelet. He sighed and started pacing nervously. He knew that she was right, he was being irrational; But being outside without even one element of his armor made him feel vulnerable. Anxious. Unprepared. It left a crack in his carefully crafted shell of self-confidence. He cursed quietly. How frightened and foolish he must look to Hawke, who was comfortable in a light dress. Then again, she's a mage; she always has her most powerful weapon with her.

_Why can't you just leave me in my misery and not make everything so conflicting?_

She was so stubborn that she'd sit there all day and miss this festival she was so excited about while he was sitting here feeling pathetic, bitter and hopeless.

But clinging to an illusion of protection is a weakness. Like Hawke's mabari, who was fond of hiding its head under the curtain and thinking he was safe and invisible.

_You shouldn't depend so much on anything. You can lose everything any moment and you should still be able to survive. Items are for using, not for getting used to them._

He took a deep breath and started unfastening his gauntlets slowly. Through the window he could see how Hawke wounds her bracelet round her fingers and trying to resemble some form of knuckle-duster.

_But most of all, you should not let yourself start depending on her._

* * *

><p>In late evening, we stood watching the revlers in the square. I asked Fenris if he would like to dance and he just gave me a look, as if I suggested performing a blood magic ritual. Well, at least he didn't go "Do you really think they teach slaves to dance?" Honestly, I didn't really expect him to agree, so I just shrugged. Earlier I managed to tie few colorful ribbons to the spikes at his shoulder-pads, while he was busy taking wreaths and flowers off his head, so I felt pretty accomplished for today.<p>

Suddenly some guy came up to us. He was quite handsome, well-dressed and there was genuine admiration in his smile.

"Hey, beauty. Would you honor me with a dance?" Then he noticed Fenris and added politely "Of course, if your companion doesn't mind…"

Fenris stepped back, shaking his head and looking aside at the ground. "It's not my place to object."

I almost agreed, but then glanced at Fenris again and imagined how he would stand there, alone in the joyful crowd, stooping, but still too noticeable and strange, feeling like a fool with those bright ribbons, but too proud to show it.

"No, sorry." I smiled pleasantly "I don't dance."

The man shrugged, smiled back with slight disappointment and walked away.

"You were more than willing few minutes ago." Fenris said quietly, not looking at me. Shit, and I have to convince him that it's not because of him or he'll start his "I don't need your pity"-routine again.

"He didn't seem all that graceful. He'd stomp my feet flat."

"And I wouldn't?"

"You don't have iron heels."

* * *

><p><em>The Second Year<em>

"Kaffas!"

"Bless you" Hawke said absently, struggling forward through the festival's crowd.

"I did not sneeze." Fenris rolled his eyes at the back of her head.

"Oh, that was one of your curses? sorry. What happened?"

"Almost-successful pickpocketing."

"Hah. Well, this is a place to expect it. Oh, by the way, Varric made a deal with his criminal contacts, so now they return all purses with the Amell emblem. It already saved a lot of Carver's money. You can get it on yours too."

Fenris almost tripped in surprise and indignation.

"I will not let anyone put their marks on me!" he almost shouted. His hand reached for his throat, involuntarily defending the place where it was collared before.

Hawke turned on her heels viciously, glaring at him with her look of an offended queen.

"What? Oh Maker's ear wax! You're such an overreacting, dramatic cod! Did I tell you to wear my crest or carry my banner behind me? It's just a patch on the purse; nobody would even see it most of the time! I just wanted to help, but whatever. It's your money after all; feel free to see non-existing implications."

The elf took a deep breath, swallowed and said, lowering his hand.

"I've misunderstood your intentions."

"As always" she rolled her eyes and continued making her way to the scene in the corner of the square. "Well, Varric asked for a recognizable symbol, and I thought why invent new, if I've already have a good one."

"Old-fashioned nobles have their emblems embroidered in everything that could be skewered with a needle?" he teased, smirking.

"Exiled, impoverished nobles even more so." She laughed awkwardly "When it's the only thing that still connects you with your heritage, you can be a bit obsessive with it."

The grin immediately vanished from his face. Her words ringed with his old, bitter feeling of loneliness, with hopeless longing for the lost roots. He'd give anything to find out where he belonged before his memory and past were taken from him.

"You know, before I bought our estate back, there were slavers. Slavers in my family's estate! Yeah, sure I wiped them out; it was before we've met. But what infuriated me the most – they kept our crest on the wall. I mean, it's our history, it's our heritage and pride, I won't let those pigs to hang it there just 'cause it's pretty. Ugh. And I tore it off the wall and brought it to the Gamlen's hovel. Yep, all by myself, Carver was just freaked out. But it was the Amell's residence at this time, so _that_'s were our crest belonged."

_Still, she was willing to let me use it_. _It was a gesture of a certain trust and acceptance, and I yelled at her for it._ _Venhedis, she must think I'm incapable of gratitude. _

"I… appreciate your offer."

But she didn't hear him already – she was jumping at her tip-toes, trying to see over the crowd the distant scene.

"Oh, it's a Ferelden troupe, and they're playing "The Tale of Calenhad"! It's just the beginning! Hah, look, it's young Calenhad and there is Arl Tenedor… Shit, I can't see Aldenon the Wise, he's my favorite…"

The play was apparently good, because the crowd was too dense and interested for Hawke to make her way closer to the scene. Even without magic, she wasn't a delicate flower or weakling by all means, but too slender for such a crush here. She could be up there, though, in the special boxes for nobles, but then she'd have to introduce Fenris as a servant or he wouldn't be allowed. For someone so proud of her heritage, she was amazingly quick to relinquish her privileges for just the sake of his pride. It felt very strange to realize that someone – and a high-blooded mage, nonetheless - was willing to give up something for him, even if it was so insignificant.

"Follow me" he said, stepping forward, but she held up her hands and shook her head.

"No, no, don't! I mean, you're barefoot and you hate touches and it's gonna be an awful mess…"

Fenris felt how gloomy tenderness, which he didn't expect from himself, twisted his lips in a crooked grin.

_You still don't understand what I am, do you?_

He led Danarius through the madness of qunari attack to the ship in time to escape, half-dead from wounds himself. Getting Hawke through the festival's crowd to the scene could not be seemed as a problem.

"Just stay close."

* * *

><p>"Oh, look, it's an arm-wrestling competition down there! The smith let you choose any of his goods, if you beat him." I stared at Fenris expectedly, but he didn't react as much as shrugging, so I continued "Isn't it interesting?"<p>

"Exciting" the elf muttered indifferently.

"The smith looks really strong, yeah? Though he's lucky you're not into fun stuff, or he'd be ruined."

"Undoubtedly so."

_Undoubtedly so? You arrogant trout, I've paid you a compliment, you can give me at least some attention!_

"Or maybe not. This guy does look pretty impressive. He's like two times bigger than you!"

_Gee, look, I'm provoking "size-doesn't-matter" arguments. Way to stay classy, Hawke!_

"He's blacksmith, not a fighter. There is can be no competition."

"Maybe he's actually stronger than you? You can't brag without proving. I could've said the same! 'Cause you know, I'm a mage and we're just the best."

He finally stopped and turned to me with incredulously crooked eyebrow

"I was one of the best warriors of the Imperium and I prevented the ogre from stomping at your head just this past week. If I could've imagined any profit that you can get from me winning this game, I'd consider this dialog as pathetic attempt at manipulation. But I can't see any practical reasons for you to start it, so do you feel just not foolish enough for such a special occasion?"

I sighed, feeling how my cheeks becoming hot with a blush "He has amazing candlesticks, really charming, and with enamel of different colors…"

"Candlesticks?" he repeated with eyebrow quirked skeptically

"What? I like candlesticks, and those are really great!"

"You're not good in manipulation when you pursue selfish goals." Fenris said mildly. I sighed and rolled my eyes, but he continued after short pause "And I highly appreciate this."

I stared at him, not quite trusting my ears and not sure how to react.

"Why didn't you just ask?"

"Because I thought it would sound silly."

"And you think your senseless prodding was smarter?"

I made a face at him, but then realized that there wasn't venom in his voice and his eyes were warmly green without usual grayish note of steel. So I shrugged and decided to give it a try.

"Mmm… Please?" I grinned widely, but I suppose a bit awkwardly too.

He gave me one of his brief sun-lit smiles and turned away, heading for the smith.

"Hey, wait!" I cried out, trying to catch up with him "You didn't even ask what color I want!"

"There is no necessity." he answered confidently without missing a step "I know you'll want red."

* * *

><p><em>The Third Year<em>

"It's a lifetime sentence, you know." Hawke said thoughtfully, looking at jugglers in the center of square. She took a long sip from the bottle and passed it to Fenris. They sat in a small shadowy alcove in the wall of one of the mansions that surrounded the square and tasted wines from different countries. The festival was at its height in front of them, bright, loud and carefree.

"A mage." Hawke explained, still not looking at him. "It's the only feature we are judged and labeled for. The moment it's discovered, everything else doesn't matter."

Fenris jerked up his head, but she met his eyes before he could say anything.

"Not just you, everyone, you're just honestly hostile. But in fact everyone has their own image of what mages are like and they try to get us all into that box. Like it's our defining feature, like there's nothing more to see. But we're just people, all different, with our own personalities, dreams, goals and feelings. Magic expresses us, not defines."

_Tell it to your possessed healer, who can talk only about how he's an oppressed mage._

But even if he still thought that "getting to know a mage before judging him" was suicidal behavior, he owed her an explanation, because she really _was_ an exception.

"In the Imperium, magisters are declaring it as a defining feature. Magic is a trait that separates "higher beings" from common people, it's a reason they were "destined" to rule, an excuse to treat everyone else like dirt… and animals. "

He felt how his voice treacherously quavered and felt silent. Hawke bit her lip and said softly, "But you're not in Tevinter anymore. Here it's a shame and pressure on us. Blind hostility doesn't protect people against mages; it pushes innocents to the edge. It's bad enough that we have to constantly control ourselves, but when a mage gets only fear and disgust for all his life, he doesn't have a motivation to resist demons. Do you know how many mages actually hate their gift and pray to lose it?"

"Not you, though" he stated flatly.

"Now I've accepted it, yes. But there were times when I dreamed to be deprived of it."

He stared at her, too surprised to find words.

"It's a life sentence" she repeated. "We don't choose who we want to be. It's always just "_mage_".

"You are the only mage I regret being hostile with. Every other proved that he deserved this treatment." Fenris said stubbornly. "I do admit that all mages are different, but almost always it just means different kinds of threat."

She sighed tiredly and shook her head, looking away. Her stubborn belief in the presumption of innocence was a cornerstone in their arguments. How often he wanted to yell and shake her until that foolish kind-hearted girl would understand that weaklings should be secured before they have even small chance to become monsters. You can't just hope that their good side will win; it never does. But he realized that without so strong faith in people she wouldn't bother to try helping him. So he hated and was grateful for it at the same time, and it was just maddening.

"Are you saying that you'd choose another life, if you could?" he asked incredulously. She always looked so satisfied with her life; he couldn't imagine her being anything other than a free mercenary. This way she can choose her contracts, help people and apply all her talents at once: magic, leadership, courage, creativity.

But she hesitated, still not looking at him, and waved her hand "You'll think it's stupid…"

He raised his eyebrows expectedly "Try me."

She sighed and finally glanced at him.

"Well, there isn't an actual word for this job, but the closest I think would be "traveling performer"

The elf stared at her in disbelief and she started explaining with passion, gesticulating vividly .

"Like a storyteller, but with magic I could not only tell, but also show. I could make legends came alive: dragons made of fire, icy mountains, castles of fog, thunderstorms… Well, those are pretty obvious, but actually combining different elements I could make neat tricks like a Revenant made of black dust and with hellish fire in his eyes! I have few dances for my favorite songs plotted down to the each line, all battles and wonders, all heroes and beasts! I'd wish to travel, see new places and give people those old beautiful legends and fairytales in colors, to remind them of miracles and great deeds, to bring a spark of childish excitement in their routines, to make them dream... Of course it would be much less profitable, nobly or prestigious, but I'd choose it in a heartbeat if I could."

She finally halted, threw him an embarrassed look and blushed slightly.

"See, told you it's stupid."

For few moments he could just stare at her and clench his fist as tightly as possible to stop himself from reaching for her gently blushing cheek – to make sure she's real.

"It certainly would be a spectacular sight" he said, trying to make his grave voice sound as soft as he could "Even without plot your dance with fire was breathtaking."

"Really?" Her eyes widened and she smiled warily "You remember...?"

_I've seen it in my dreams so many times that Chantry would find it indecent._

"Of course I remember" he said quietly and for a few moments there was an awkward silence between them.

"And who you would want to be?" She asked suddenly with a curious smile.

"Me?" he repeated, staring at her blankly.

"Yeah! I mean, it's perfectly fine if you're satisfied with a job of mercenary fighter, but maybe there is something else?"

He blinked few times, trying to collect his thoughts, and took a sip from the bottle to buy a little more time.

"I don't know." Fenris said finally with a shrug "I've never thought of it."

At first he was a slave and dreamed of nothing more, and then he turned into prey on the run and all he wanted was to survive and not become a slave again. He never had a luxury of something more. And… it was too late already.

"Why not?" she took a bottle from him, finished it and reached for the next "You're very smart and quick at learning, you have an obvious gift for languages; in fact, you could be anything you want."

Disconcerted, he turned away, hiding his eyes under the strand of hair.

_You're just as beautiful as your dreams, but I have only my fears._

"You're just being kind." He said finally and Hawke huffed.

"Phuh! No, I'm not." She sighed "Listen, I understand it's difficult for you… Just promise me; next time you'll find something interesting for you, you won't give up on it just because "it's too late", "it's not for me" and your other bullshit. Just think about it."

She offered him the bottle, still searching for his eyes, and he took it with a short nervous smirk.

"Fine. By the way, I can tell that you're trying to get me drunk."

"It's not like I tried to hide it." She grinned wickedly and he crooked his eyebrow at her.

"Oh, don't worry, I don't plan anything indecent."

_What a pity._

"And you're not afraid of getting too drunk yourself, since you have roughly as much wine as me?"

"Nagh, you see, I have a useful trait. Even shitfaced drunk, I act generally as normally. Maybe my jokes get stupid, but its not really big deal or difference. And when I'm over the edge, I just crawl into some safe place, fall asleep and then even StoneFist in the face can't wake me up. So I don't have to worry about embarrassing myself greatly."

"We shall see" the elf said, smirking, and stood up "Well, let's go win for you some pretty things in unfair competitions."

"Yay!"

* * *

><p>We found a piece of black fabric with stars that we used as tablecloth, a glass ball with white turbidity within, few candles and perched ourselves near the fountain at the festival's square. I was telling fortunes by cards and runes – few stones with meaningless signs that we invented on spot, and Fenris randomly growled at customers short phrases in Tevinter or Qun. I "interpreted" his words and secretly wished I could understand what he really says. He stood very still and his intoxication was shown only in short smirks to me.<p>

In between visitors Fenris would sit down with me and we would drink and laugh at how easily people believe at any nonsense. Every time when I caught his short drunk grins, which looked so unfamiliarly boyish, it suddenly seemed that bright day was cloudy before this moment. I was glad that I managed to involve him in some sort of prank, even if all his contribution consisted in just standing there. He refused to talk about his youth, and I didn't press it, but I doubt he had a joyful childhood full of funny games and light-hearted mischief. In fact, by the way he behaves, I'd say he didn't have any childhood at all.

And then I saw the templar, and he clearly headed for us. I swallowed and tensed, Fenris frowned and casually readjusted his sword. I stifled idiotic urge to hide behind his back and tried to look calm. I fooled the Knight-Lieutenant, I wouldn't be caught at so stupid thing…

The templar, young and ruffled, came up, looked over our stuff and smiled smarmily

"Hello. Can I get… advice here?"

_What? Really? Gee!_

"Of course, Ser Templar! What would you like to know?"

"Well, there is one girl…" He started shyly, but then asked with hesitating suspicion "Ahem, but it's not magic, right?"

Fenris growled something that most likely meant "Of course it is, you fool" and I smiled with endless honesty

"Sure! Have you seen anything like this in your Gallows, kind Ser?" I pointed at out junk and the Templar frowned for a second, then shook his head

"Well, no… They use only staffs and wands… and books…"

"Exactly! Unholy things! My divinations are almost Maker's own… advice. "

When he walked away, happy and reassured with my optimistic prophecies, I whistled nervously and looked up at the elf.

"What a fool." Fenris muttered, shaking his head in disbelief "It is a wonder they manage to catch anyone at all."

"What did you expect? They accepted Carver." I smiled widely "Hey, you know, with his coins we have enough money to buy another bottle of that Antivan brandy. How does it sound?"

"Good. We were asked for the truth and we shall seek it. In vino veritas, ergo bibamus."

"I love how you magniloquent when you're drunk."

* * *

><p>"Well, well, what do we have here?" Varric settled back into his chair and closed his fingers "A real scandal. A drunk noblewoman was found in the indecent embrace with her elven companion at the steps of her own estate. "<p>

He grinned widely and shamelessly, examining the couple at the other side of his table. Hawke and Fenris, both ruffled, angry and obviously at the end of their temper, stared at him: the elf with narrowed eyes like at the target, and the mage – faking indifference, but with flaring nostrils.

"Preposterous" Fenris snarled.

"Blargh!" Hawke gulped at the same time.

Of course they denied everything. But Hawke had a subtle pattern that resembled decor of the elf's shoulder-pads at her cheek, and Fenris, still as hunched over as ever, had one shoulder more askew as if it stiffened from keeping too long in one position.

_Kids, it doesn't take a spy net to figure you out._

"We were… caught in conversation, but accidently fell asleep in the middle of it, because, well, I suppose, we _did_ have a little too much wine. That is all explanation that you're going to get." Hawke said firmly, her tone menacing, overpowering and cold like a frozen ogre.

So he walked her home, but of course they didn't want to part with each other, and they just sat on the threshold, talking until she dozed into sleep at his shoulder, and he was afraid to disturb her.

_You cute procrastinating motherfuckers. _

"Some rumors say that you didn't have all set of clothes… Was it interfering with your conversation?" Varric teased. He knew it was a lie, but still enjoyed the rare occasion when he could so easily embarrass the both of them.

"I've had enough of this nonsense." Fenris finally snapped, sprang up and almost threw the chair away.

"Yeah, it seems it's just not worth it all." Hawke drawled with a noble arrogance, standing up pointedly calmly.

_Oh, Hawke let someone make a point and follows him and it doesn't even have anything to do with qunari? That's something new._

"Wait, wait, wait." Varric held up his hands, smiling, when they've already turned to the door. "Easy, guys. Why so serious, if it's not a big deal?"

They exchanged quick glances and stopped at the tracks, turning to the dwarf with expectantly raised eyebrows. Varric sighed, took two purses with Amell's emblems from his table and threw them to the couple. The elf caught it and handled one to Hawke; both were pointedly careful to not touch each other. Varric didn't care to hide a smirk.

Hawke straightened up, glared at the dwarf and said through the gritted teeth

"And if there's any stupid rumors in town…"

"Yeah, I'm going to get a fireball into the hole in my chest, I got it. Just remember next time to have your _conversations_ somewhere without provoking pickpockets. "

They threw at him final, twin burning glares and walked through the door.

_Isn't three damn years enough time for you to admit that you're attracted to each other? I think I'll have to do something about it, while just one of them white-haired. _

_Huh, it's going to be the first time I'm doing something to lose my own bet._


	11. Every little thing she does is magic

_Sorry for slow updates, guys, and thank you for the feedback! _

_So many thanks to ___Scarletstar20_ for beta-reading again:)__ _

* * *

><p><strong>Do I have to tell the story Of a thousand rainy days since we first met<strong>

"So, Daisy and I are going up the hills to find that flower of hers…" Varric said a bit breathlessly, stomping at the embers of their little campfire. This morning they tracked down and cleaned out the lair of blood mages group. Hawke made a habit of taking the dalish on every job where the blood magic was involved to show examples of where it could lead. A good intention, but Fenris doubted it would work. The witch couldn't learn from even her own experience, let alone someone else's.

"Embrium!"Merrill explained enthusiastically "I remember a recipe of one great potion from the Keeper's lessons and I wanted to look for that ingredient while we're at the coast."

So she was a dalish and had specific training, and Varric had only common sense, but if Fenris had to bet, he'd place his money on the dwarf.

"Yeah, so, anyone wants to join us?" Varric asked, still fighting with embers, which were seemingly dying out under his feet just to spark up again nearby.

"The dalish needs supervision of the city dwarf to not vanish in the wilds. Never mind the lost history, _this_ is the true downfall of the elven race." Fenris mused lazily, and Hawke tried to kick him.

"You're not in the mood for exploring your elven heritage, I take it?" Varric confirmed sarcastically, for a second lifting his gaze from the ground, and Fenris shrugged.

"It's not my kind of frolicking."

The dwarf didn't answer, too caught in hunting a little spark that was dancing around his boots like an insolent cockroach. The elf sighed and drawled reproachfully "Hawke."

She made a face at him, but Varric finally looked up at her with indignation "Hawke?"

"Sorry, Varric, sorry," she held up her hands, chuckling, "But you don't see me molesting locks with my toothpick, right? So leave flames to the fire mage."

The dwarf huffed and stepped away from the embers, folding his arms and gazing at the mage.

"Fair enough. So, you gonna go with us, Hawke?"

"I'm not exactly a "picking flowers and singing with the birds" type of girl. I think I'm out." The mage smiled apologetically.

"But embrium is very pretty! And red!" Merrill declared in her last attempt to persuade the other mage.

"Hey! Exactly who do you think I am, guys! I don't go for just anything red and pretty, I'm not that shallow!" Hawke said with exaggerated offense, but then smiled mischievously "It also has to have something to do with fire, hawks or dogs!"

Varric sighed and shrugged "All right then, you kids stay here; and if you're not fighting about magic when we return, I'll give you cookies."

"Phuh! If you'll manage to actually find this weed and return, I'll give you the medal of a honorary ranger!"

After Varric and Merrill left, Hawke threw the stick for her mabari and then chased him across the beach to get it back. The elf took off his gauntlets and the chestplate – lately he was practicing in maintaining his confidence without any crutches, – and sat down, leaning against the cliffs and facing the sea. It was a very bright summer day, almost as hot as, say, late spring in Tevinter, whitecaps were softly and mesmerizingly reflecting the sunshine, and Hawke's laugh overlapped annoying screams of the seagulls. Enveloped in rare feeling of quiet warmth, Fenris let himself to doze off.

He woke up immediately when he sensed someone nearby, but he didn't move, because he knew it was Hawke. He knew her footsteps and her unique scent – an elusive aroma of herbal soap, mixed with a soft note of heated wood of her staff, which was used to evoke fire so often that it was never getting cold. She must've got tired of running and returned to catch her breath.

And then he felt how her fingertips gently brushed strand of hair off his forehead. One part of him, old memory of agony and fear, demanded to immediately shriek away, other, which sometimes was bringing him dreams that weren't nightmares, wanted to catch her hand and pull her closer; but mostly he was just stunned like in that day in the Deep Roads when she healed him. He felt how she softly stroked his skin, light touches at his cheekbones, jaw, above his brows, and he barely breathed to not scare it away, because it was the closest thing to sincere, non-humiliating caress that he received in his life. And if before he thought that it was ruined for him, that everyone could have it, but not him, and he just accepted it as a price of freedom; then now it suddenly became so painfully unfair that he'll never be able to be close with someone, that those brief stolen moments are everything that he'll ever have, and…

And then he finally realized that there was some sort of dust on her fingers. Tension, which fastened his heartbeat a second ago, turned into a bitter lump in his throat.

_It's just another prank that she's doing out of boredom. How pathetic you should be to mistake joke for tenderness? She fell asleep at your shoulder, because you're more comfortable that the nearest pillar, and she regretted it so much that she couldn't look at you when she woke up. Vishante, you so foolishly want to believe that it's not too late for you, that you're ready to take anything that is not an open contempt as a sign of affection._

He opened his eyes and for a split moment caught her expression: focused, with an absent half-smile dancing on her lips, but then she met his gaze and backed away in fear. He sprung up abruptly and strode across the beach in direction of the sea without a word.

"Fenris! Ugh, wait!"

_No. Just leave me. Don't make me yell at you, so I would hate myself even more later._

"Fenris! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

He couldn't even bring himself to shout at her. After all, his deficiencies were not her problem or fault.

_Just leave me alone._

He's a ruin, a wrecked and burned out carcass, so deformed that it's impossible to tell what it was supposed to be before it was destroyed, and it's not a place for a bright bird with cheerful songs. Can't you see that I'm too poisoned with…

Suddenly Hawke outpaced him, blocked his way and poured out the cap of ashes on herself.

"Look, I didn't want to offend you," she said, blinking and coughing, "I thought after years of knowing me, you would understand that it's just a friendly prank, for fun, not meant to humiliate…"

"I didn't take it as an insult." He told her softly.

"You wha…" she shook her head, "But you glared at me with that tortured look and stormed away without a word!"

"After years of knowing me, you could've notice that remaining silent at the sight of something I find offensive is not one of my habits."

"Well, yeah, you're more about flipping shit before any reasoning, but… Are you telling me that you just woke up and was like 'What time is it? Brooding time! And oh my, I'm already late!'?"

"Something like that," he couldn't hide a smile, passing by her and stepping into sea waves that softly licked the sand.

"You're bloody impossible, ugh." She came up to him, sighing "Wait, at least take a look at my masterpiece. Obviously, you didn't give me time to finish it, but there are still things to marvel at!"

Fenris examined his reflection with narrowed eyes.

"Well, there are appears to be worms crawling out of my nose."

"What? No! It's a _moustache_!"

"And there are… needles and some sort of twisted hooks sticking out of my jaw?"

"It's a beard! I just couldn't decide should it be curly or not."

"And apparently I have a black eye."

"No, then it would be filled with black, right?"

He looked skeptically at the circle around his right eye, with six straight lines outside, which were pointed at its center. Meanwhile Hawke sat down and started washing off the ash.

"It doesn't make sense. You're just buying time to wash yourself and make me stand there like a fool until others return."

"Give up now and you'll never know the truth."

"I think I can live with that," he retorted, squatting down next to her. She stuck out her tongue and lazily splashed water at him. When she did it for the third time, he said curtly

"Stop it."

"Or what? You're gonna _brood_ at me again? It won't work two times in one day, pal." She chuckled and splashed water again. He pointedly ignored salty drops, cleared the last strokes of ash from his jaw, then smacked his palm to the sea surface and, with all the strength he could muster, moved his arm in wide half-circle directed at Hawke. It caused not just few drops, but a whole wave that doused the mage from head to toe.

"You son of an oyster!" Hawke sprung up, shaking her head, with wet hair plastered over her face and knee-deep in the sea. The next second a wall of water Fenris's full height rose up in front of him.

Apparently she failed to realize that someone, whose fighting style consists in striking an enemy before it can attack, won't try to back off and cover himself up. On pure combat reflex, the elf charged through the water barrier without a moment of hesitation.

"Maker's crap!" Hawke's eyes rounded, she turned and ran away, leaving risen waves to block the path behind her. He ran after her on bare instinct – _you can't seriously think about challenging _me_ with those _magic_ tricks – _ if he actually thought about what he was doing for at least a second, he'd undoubtedly stop. In the heat of the moment there wasn't any time, so when he caught her – partly because it seemed as a logical conclusion of chasing and partly because she tripped over the hem of her own robes and started falling down – he had not the slightest idea what he was supposed to do next. Hawke immediately raised a whirlpool around them, so Fenris was just busy keeping both his balance under attacks of slashing waves and kicking, hissing mess of sharp elbows and knees in his arms.

"Let me go or I'll bite you, I swear, on…"

"Ahem."

Abruptly both the mage and waves around calmed down, and Fenris saw Varric and Merrill standing on the beach. It took him another second to realize that he's clasping heavily panting Hawke in his arms and actually feel her – how she's leaning against him, heat of her body through the damp clothes, how her back is arched under the pressure of his palm, her fingers digging into his shoulder, and how many bruises he's going to have after all of this. Their eyes met – her face was so close that he could see sunshine gleaming through the waterdrops on her lashes and feel warm ragged breath from her slightly parted lips – and they immediately jumped away from each other as if fireball just exploded between them.

"Are we interrupting or something? Just say the word and we'll search for pretty flowers for a bit longer. Or we can just go back to Kirkwall by ourselves and leave you to your… Ouch! Hawke, at least restrain the lightning if you can't restrain your… Hey, seriously, stop it! Tell her, elf! It's terror by magic; you should scowl at her, not at me!"

* * *

><p>"Daisy, you're about to witness the art of exploiting knowledge."<p>

"Oh, how exciting! Can I tell Aveline about it? She always wonders what exactly you do."

"No, I'm afraid you can't tell anyone. I trust you, but a businessman has to keep his methods secret."

"Of course, I understand! Oh, is there going to be something dirty?"

Merrill liked to try finding those things in conversations with Carver. Even though he claimed there was nothing hidden, she was sure there _was_ something dirty, because others smirked and Carver blushed. Now a templar, she missed those conversations.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Try to recognize it." Varric winked at her and sped up, trying to catch up with Hawke. It wasn't easy, because she walked fast when she was angry, but she still managed to keep that swaying in her walk. Not like Isabela though, who rather swaggered, resembling wide rocking of the sea wave. Hawke moved in light, a bit springy steps, as if in any second she would start dancing or jump up and fly into the sky. When Merrill tried to duplicate something like that, she just tripped over her own feet. Isabela said it was something that should come naturally, like a lover or a burglar. But sadly neither lovers nor burglars seem to be interested in coming into her little hovel in the alienage. Perhaps it was the dirt?

Merrill just felt a little envious sometimes. Of course, it's easy for Hawke to judge her. If she could be so confident, cunning and charming, she wouldn't need blood magic or help of spirits. Hawke seemed to always know what to do next and how to solve any problem. Even now, ruffled and in the wet robes, she still was so dignified, sure of herself and eye-catching. Water turned her hair into beautiful mess of unruly curls, and from time to time Hawke would drive her fingers through them, shake and toss them up, trying to get it dried faster. At those moments the sunshine glinted through her hair, creating elusive patterns of light between silky black locks. If Merrill tried to do it, she'd just end up with her hair bristling up in spikes or covering her eyes, so she'd trip and fall down.

At this time Varric caught up with Hawke and grinned at her shamelessly "So, helping our elf to explore his cultural heritage, eh? Hands down, you got the guy frolicking."

"Shut up or I'll set your chest hair on fire." Hawke muttered coldly.

"Hey, _rude,_" the dwarf chuckled, "But well, if you don't want to discuss it, don't worry, I can find another audience. Isabela adores stories about wet frocks."

_That_ had to be a dirty part, because Hawke started and waved her hands in protest. But what exactly could it mean…?

"Jeez, no! No, you can't! She'll never let me live it down!"

"But I'd bet she'd pay me a whole sovereign for this story. I'm a dwarf, how can I resist gold?"

"Oh, you petty blackmailing…" with irritated growl, Hawke bended over to shake off road dust from the wet hem of her robes, and suddenly Merrill understood what was dirty about wet frocks.

"Fine." Hawke straightened up and took a sovereign from her purse. "Now leave alone me to wail at baseness of my friends, if you please."

"Sure." Varric agreed cheerfully and returned to Merril, whistling.

"Varric, I got the dirty part! It was about wet frocks, right?"

The dwarf sized her up from under raised eyebrow with a surprised look. "What is it, Daisy, have you grown up already?"

Merrill beamed at him "It's dirty, because when her robes are wet, there is much more dust that clings to it and it's way harder to clean it!"

Varric stared at her for a few moments with an expression of mixed relief and patronizing pity, and Merrill realized that she missed again.

"Aw, you were so close this time, Daisy! But don't get upset yet, you can still try your luck when I'll poke at Fenris. It'll be even more obvious. " He chuckled.

When the dwarf went and spoke up to the elf behind Merril's back, it was in low, conspiratorial tone, apparently so Hawke couldn't hear.

"So, as a former slave, just squatting in stolen luxury, you'll get a discount. Only fifty silvers from you."

"I'm not paying you. There had been already spent a sovereign more than your blackmailing deserves, and besides, I couldn't care less what Isabela thinks."

"Hey now! I am a honest businessman, I don't sell the same chamber pot to two different people. Unless they're married."

"You don't make any sense. Even less than usual, if I need to specify."

"I know you don't care what _Isabela_ thinks, Ser Tightypants. No, you're going to pay me so I don't call Hawke right now. Because you know what she'll say if she turns to us? "Is it a spare greatsword in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

That must be something, because Fenris is never happy and now he seems to be especially cranky. Hmm, but they had looted a greatsword in the blood mages' cavern, and Fenris was carrying it now, so he _did_ have a spare pockets on his belt are too small to fit it, so what it was that all about?

After a few moments there were Fenris's irritated grunt and clinking of coins.

"Heh. By the way, dwarven belching contests."

"What?"

"They do it in Orzamar. I heard, to pass a qualifying round you need to drown out a warhorn."

"Is it your trademark gesture – to tell a man you just robbed some senseless and preferably disgusting story?"

"I figured you need some _distraction_, and by my experience, disgusting works the best in those cases."

"Don't you have someone else around to pester? Even if you've already blackmailed the witch, you can try to wrangle some bones out of Hawke's mabari."

"I think I had enough of barking from you already. And undeservedly so! You both could've saved your money, if you weren't so stubbornly blind."

"There is nothing to see."

"There is at the very least Hawke's insults to look at."

"You don't have them. I didn't let you copy them."

"Oh please, you're wounding me. I'm a storyteller and professional information broker, you think I can't memorize a few phrases long enough to write them down?"

"It's… It doesn't matter."

"I'll let you see them for free."

"I don't need to."

"You know where to find me, elf."

At this point Merrill finally had a theory and was excited to tell it to Varric. When he once tried to explain sarcasm to her, he told her that the speaker actually means the opposite of what he says and implies something that the receiver of joke doesn't want to acknowledge. So Varric's phrase can be translated as "Fenris is angry, and he doesn't have a spare greatsword in his pocket and he doesn't want Hawke to know about it." But why? That was the hardest part of the mystery, but Merrill managed to crack it open. Apparently Fenris doesn't want Hawke to find out that the greatsword isn't in his pocket, because he lost it! And Hawke gets very angry and grumpy when you lose something she was going to sell. She glares at you and everyone around and curses with deeply intimate features of human gods, so you feel like even Andraste's wart is judging you right now. No wonder that Fenris doesn't want her to find out.

_But Elgar'nan, does Hawke look great when her clothes get slinky and outlines all of her curves like now. Those swaying hips!_

* * *

><p><em><strong>It was a typical day. Killed some blood mages, found and sold some stuff, nothing special. The weather was great.<strong>_

/

_Surely there was more exciting stuff to document than just weather, right, Hawke?_

_By the way, did you like your cookies?_

/

_Oh? Did I miss something interesting?_

/

_**Yes, Isabela, you missed a lot of abominations, stinky soggy caverns and Fenris's nostalgic lecture about how in Tevinter you can at least kill blood mages in comfortable surroundings. **_

_**Varric, stop telling nonsense. Which cookies?**_

/

_Cookies that you've earned for maintaining friendly behavior with the elf. I left them on your table right next to this journal._

/

Oh, I'm sorry, Hawke. I ate those cookies. They just looked so cute and sweet: heart-shaped, with this delicious pink icing; I couldn't resist. I'm sure Varric can get more for you, right, Varric? They're really, really tasty. You can't find anything even remotely as good in the Alienage.

/

_**Merrill? What in the name of Andraste's glorious fluffy mittens did you forget in my journal? **_

/

Um, I just… Oh, fine. I was hoping to find, you know, some dirty spells. I tried to look for them in Anders' books, but didn't find anything and he caught me. And I thought that you should know something like this for sure and that probably you'd write it in your personal journal. But it turned out that your diary is just so funny and interesting, and everyone is bickering there, it's like a private party! So I keep coming to check for new updates.

/

_**Oh, you people just… I can't even… Ugh.**_

_**Dirty spells? Like what, Grease?**_

/

_Obviously, like Walking Sex-Bomb and Glyph of Seduction, Hawke. You keep bitching how Merrill should stop doing blood magic, but you never offered any exciting alternatives. That's not fair. You should support her positive initiative!_

_That's my girl, Kitten!_

/

_**Hasn't your Keeper given you Sexual Education for Mages lesson? I thought you dalish know some kinky mysteries of the ancient Arlathan and stuff. **_

_**But alright, you better ask me than Desire Demon. The most common delusion is that you need "special" spells. While they do exist, their incompetent use can result in real disaster. So, especially for beginners, it's better to stick to basic spells that you're confident with and adjust them for current situation. So, Creation school is the most useful, Primal and Elemental can spice things up, and Force magic is for extreme fun, but you need to really know what you're doing. For a start, Rejuvenate can help to get at least satisfying experience out of even the most pathetic cases. But if you need to cast it quicker than you mana fully regenerates, ditch the guy, he's not worth it.**_

/

_You need to write a brochure on the subject, Hawke. Name it "Make love, not oppression" and distribute it with Anders's manifestos. That would bring huge inflow of supporters for mage's cause. _

/

_I bet the Blooming Rose would gladly sponsor it. I can talk with Madame Lusine for you. But I think you should name it "Better than Desire Demon". It will catch even more attention!_

/

_**Shut up or I'll write a book "Vigilante Willy-Nilly or How I started my collection of severed heads of rogues".**_

* * *

><p>"Do your markings give you power to stare through the solid objects as well as to punch through them? You've been glaring at me whole evening as if you want to read Hawke's notes directly from my head."<p>

When Fenris showed up for their usual card game, he walked up to Varric's table, took pink cookies from his belt's pocket, clenched his fist and, looking straight into dwarf's eyes, threw crumbles into Varric's ale. Then he sat at his usual place and proceeded to glare at the rogue, until Varric started to feel heavy uncomfortable pressure that reminded him of one time in his youth when he tried a helmet and decided to never wear one of those things again.

_How does Hawke put up with it? Oh, right, she can heal headaches._

"I need some time. There is a lot of nonsense to get through."

"Andraste's ass, elf! Just read it already!" Varric got a small journal from his table, opened it at the right page and slid across the desk to Fenris. "Usually I can read whole set of your cards directly from your forehead, but today you're leading two sovereigns on me. I can't let it go on like this."

"What is this?" Fenris asked, eyeing the journal suspiciously.

"Just a notebook, where I keep my drafts, unfinished ideas, quotes that don't suit my current stories, but too good to lose. Stuff like that."

The elf sighed, finally picked up the journal, but stood up and started pacing before he even looked at the page. By the way he stumbled from time to time, Varric knew that Fenris didn't read everything at once, but had to pause after every line, re-read it a few times to wrap his head around it, and only then move to the next phrase. It wasn't surprising, since the elf seemed to be the only one who actually believed that all bullshit Hawke threw at him was genuine. Like, "I swear, I'm gonna spellbind and lure all Kirkwall seagulls into your mansion, so they'll scream all the time, crap all over the place and throw stinky half-eaten fish at your bed!"

First stumble; slightly widened, then narrowed eyes. What was there? Ah, yes.

_**A fool who takes sympathy as a pity.**_

"And sure, I write down Hawke's gems, when she wastes them on someone, who isn't worth an actual story." Varric realized, that Fenris pays him no attention, and kept talking primary to avoid an awkward tense silence.

Second stumble; crooked eyebrow, pressed up lips.

_**The most adorable jerk I've ever met.**_

"Like remember that one time, when some gang was so stupid that they tried to ambush us, and their leader said to Hawke "So, damsel, it seems you are in distress". And Hawke laughed and answered "Sorry, buddy, you don't get it. I _am_ distress, and I'm gonna damsel you all over the place."

Next stumble; raised eyebrows.

_**Moody bundle of explosive sunshine. **_

"And I write down what really happened, but I can't tell about it, because people don't want to hear about heroes being idiots. And yes, it applies to almost all of your bickering. Remember how Hawke lied to a bandit that his storehouse is on fire and Merrill ruined her bluff? But then Hawke actually set storehouse on fire and bandits ran off to put it out. But we couldn't use this advantage, because you two fought about irresponsible use of magic until bandits returned. And I was happy that they returned, because at least you shut up!"

Another stumble; widened eyes, slightly parted lips.

_**A gem in the armor of his own solitude. Grumpy solitude, mind you.**_

"You made it up." Fenris said hoarsely, shut the journal and laid it on the table.

"Wanna bet? Show it to her, and after she blushes, you'll owe me a sovereign. Besides, that cheesy sarcasm is so not my style."

"I… need to think about it." The elf muttered tensely and strode out of the room.

_Do I need to hit you on the head with a giant sign that says "Go for it"?_

* * *

><p><em>Shit, shit, shit<em>. Why it's always me who gets fucked up by life in the most unpredictable ways? _Shit. _Why I can't have a nice, pleasant surprise for once? _Shit._

What do I do now? _Shiiit!_

Can I just flee the city? Oh no, mother enjoys our estate so much, I can't drag her out like that. _Shit._

Maybe I can just hide in Darktown?..

"So the seneschal's tax collector won't be coming around again, like you asked. Funny story." Isabela's voice made me froze on the last step of the stairway. _Oh, shit, not right now!_

"I'll pass, but thank you for the help."

"Spoilsport. Why you want to squat up here in Hightown is beyond me."

Well, at least there is no moaning or screaming and the door is open, so it seems they're just talking. I cautiously walked up to the doorway. Usually I wouldn't interrupt, but now I had a really pressing matter and Fenris was the only one who could consult me on this.

"I like the view."

The elf was sitting in his favorite armchair and Isabela stood in front of him, taking her time to methodically undress him with her gaze up and down.

"So do I," she purred with a wolfish grin, staring pointedly at his crotch in case there were left some Spirits of Subtlety who hasn't yet died in agony in ten miles radius up in the Fade. Then she turned and slowly swaggered past me, giving me a wink.

_Sure, it's none of my business, but really, Izzy, you've been bluntly hitting on the guy for the last three years. I'm sure he's got the idea by now._

I waited until she left the room, then caught Fenris's eyes and threw my hands up.

"The Arishok requested me!"

"I'm… sorry?" he frowned at me with confusion.

"Yes! It's everything that our incompetent parody of Viscount could tell me!" I dropped in the chair across the table and continued ranting.

"The Arishok requested to see me _specifically_. And the Viscount clearly isn't going to leave me a choice! 'Give him what he needs to keep the peace. Can you do that for Kirkwall, Serah Hawke?" I mimicked Dumar, grimacing. "What have Kirkwall did for me, huh? They didn't want to even let me in, when I escaped the Blight just to have my family starve at the city's closed gates! They forced me into the Deep Roads expedition! They had me pay full price of the estate that is rightfully mine! But oh, now, when I'm finally rich and independent, they want me to feed myself to the qunari, just because they asked so nicely! Kirkwall can kiss my ass for all I care!"

"And you call _me_ grumpy and explosive." Fenris muttered, shaking his head at me.

I huffed, folding my arms. "You're a bad influence for anyone's temper."

_Wait, have I called him "grumpy" or "explosive" in his face?_

"Anyway, what the fuck does the Arishok wants from me? What, had they discovered that three years ago I spat not in the way the Qun demands and now they have to honor it by killing me? Yeah?"

"I believe the case is quite opposite actually." Fenris rubbed his chin thoughtfully and finally met my eyes.

"Huh?" I stared at him, blinking dumbly.

"If the Arishok wanted you dead, he wouldn't send an official request to see you to the Viscount. He'd sent one of his men to plainly kill you. And he wouldn't wait three years for it. You haven't meddled in anything concerning the qunari lately, right?"

"You know I haven't, I'm dragging you everywhere with me. And I tried to keep as far from those guys as possible."

"Qunari usually have a little respect for outsiders. You've proven your competence by defeating Tal-Vashoth. You're the most worthy person in this city in the Arishok's eyes now, I'd imagine. Even if there's some suspicion, your word should be enough to dismiss it."

"Whaa?.. Competence? I just stood there stiff, with a stone expression, trying to talk as little as possible!"

Fenris just titled his head to his shoulder with a mild smirk.

"Huh, I guess it really sounds like their own attitude, if you don't actually know me... So what, you really think I should just walk straight up to the compound and act like I don't give a shit, and they'll believe me?"

He sighed "Look at that from another point: I'm obviously going there with you. Would I recommend you to go if I thought they were planning to murder us?"

I examined him, chewing on my lip. "Well, I guess… It just really kills me when I'm trying to wrap my head around how those guys think… Like they're dedicated to not make sense in the most stern and inexorable way possible. Um, by the way, thank you. Sorry I kinda dumped all of it at you like this."

The elf shrugged, waving his hand dismissively. Hmm, he's too quiet and not even as half acid as normally about my Qunariphobia today.

"You seem to be more pensive than aggressively bitter today. Is it a weather or something is actually bugging you?"

"Three years."He sighed, turning aside "There's still no sign of Danarius. I'm beginning to wonder if he's finally given up."

I quirked my eyebrow "Don't tell me you're going to miss all the attention."

It finally wringed a short smile from Fenris, though I knew him well enough to actually understand what bothers him. It's the uncertainty that doesn't let him take a full breath.

"Tell me: what do you do when you stop running?" he asked, looking up at me again.

_Whoa, heading for the hard questions straight away, are we? Does it seem that I know what I'm doing with my life?_

"You take a breath and look around. And start anew." I said with a light sympathetic smile.

"I don't know how." He leaned forward and his gaze focused on me, suddenly filling with intense determination. It always makes me nervous. "My first memory is receiving these markings, the lyrium being branded into my flesh. The agony wiped away everything. Whatever life I had before I became a slave… it's lost."

He abruptly stood up, taking step aside, as if he was about to start pacing, but stopped himself. "I shouldn't trouble you with this. My problems are not yours."

I just sat there, staring at him with a distorted face, because my eyes attempted to narrow and round simultaneously.

_Are you kidding me?_

It was three years, three damn years, and you're telling me this only now? You were perfectly fine with telling me that your master made you wear the collar and prop the furniture, but you didn't think that _this_ could be important? And in fact explain half of your weirdness, why you're so socially inept and afraid of changes and new things; and also help me to avoid all those stupidly awkward situations where I assume that you know how normal interactions work, but you don't, so you flip your shit? I mean, really?

"You don't know who you were?" I asked, still staring at him in disbelief.

"Fenris was the name Danarius bestowed upon me, his "little wolf". If I once had another name, or a family… then they were taken from me." He shrugged uneasily, eyeing me with a strange cautious expectation. "But, again, this is not your concern."

Do you really need to rub this polite phrasing on my face? Since when do you have problems with simply telling the _mage_ to fuck off?

Ugh. And I thought we were somewhat of friends. I even thought that maybe… What an idiot I am.

"You could've notice by now that anyone's problems are mine in this city. Apparently even qunari's." I muttered begrudgingly. Fenris visibly hesitated, even more tense and wary than usually, as if struggling with some decision, and then finally said slowly

"Perhaps I don't want to be just anyone."

Huh? What is this? Did he mean what I think he meant, because I kinda can't see what else it could mean?

Maybe this admission of the lost memory is a sign of trust? At this point, I'm not even trying to sort out Fenris's conceptions of weakness, closeness or acceptance. Then possibly his "my problems are not yours" was so accented to make me object it, to say that I _do_ care. Since we argue almost all of the time, could it be attempt on provoking me to say something nice? Oh dear, I wonder how many times I thought you were maddeningly dense, when in truth you were just endearingly insecure?

This is going to be the royal pain in the ass anyway, but if I don't give it a try, I'm gonna wonder what it could be for the rest of my life.

"That shouldn't concern you. You're very special already." I smiled teasingly, and responsive spark flickered in his eyes for a second, but then he stared at me with demand again.

"You're a beautiful woman, Hawke. Is there no one else who has your… attention?"

I was so amused how he made me a compliment so matter-of-factly and even managed to put it as "By the way, you're beautiful, is it going to be my new headache?", that I swallowed "Are there any broody babies I should be aware of?" retort.

"Let's just say you _outshine_ others."

He knitted his eyebrow at me, but I just grinned.

_I know, I know, but if I'm putting up with your feathery clawed gauntlets, you're going to live with my stupid puns._

"I'm an escaped slave, and an elf, living in a borrowed mansion. None of those things bother you?"

Am I filling a dating application or something? Then maybe you'd put there some questions that are useful and consider things we actually don't know about each other? Like, "Do you snore?"

"Thank the Maker you told me now! It'd be so awkward to discover in the night of our wedding!" I said acidly, rolling my eyes "Because it's me who can't shut up about how I can't stand escaped elven slaves and how they should be brought from their borrowed mansions to the Circle and locked there for the rest of their lives."

"You have me there." He admitted with a short smirk.

I was going to get up, say "Mail me your other questions, I'll answer on paper" and leave, but lingered to make a face at him, when he offered me a hand. I looked up at him, surprised, and saw his tentative smile lightening up. I couldn't help but grin and squeeze his fingers, standing up. We walked through the door and down the stairs, still hand in hand. And what was really odd is that this descending down the ruined stairs, alone in the rotten mansion with garbage everywhere and the mushrooms growing on the floor somehow felt more grand and stately than any of ceremonial entries in luscious noble events that I've gone through lately. Fenris just has ability to add multiple layers of meaning and importance to even very simple things. Like the way we walked now, silent and not even looking at each other, just with my fingers in his palm, and it's a bit amusing and silly, but at the same time it's a first gesture not hidden under the excuses of fortuity or exigency. And I don't remember him willingly sharing touch with anyone before, well, except for ripping entrails out.

_Wait a minute… _

It took him three years of frequent, almost everyday interaction to get to this. Considering his loss of memory, there is probability higher than the Viscount's Keep that it's his first attempt at normal relationship. Of course, maybe there were casual trysts, though I doubt it judging by Isabela's frustration, but it's not the same. Now his blunt questioning actually makes sense – he's just completely inexperienced and probably has very vague idea about what to expect.

_Oh jeez. _If things between us don't work out, I'm not gonna be ruined. Worst case scenario, I'm getting wasted in the Hanged Man and move on. But Fenris…

Does he even have a conception of moving on anything at all? Does he need to complicate his already horrifically fucked up emotional problems by relationship with the hot-tempered stubborn mage with invasive sense of humor? I _am_ genuinely interested, but in the "Life is short and you're hot" way, not in the devoted tone of romantic ballads, where the kind heroine "shows the meaning of love" to the bitter hero, "soothes his pain", "heals his scars with tenderness" and stuff like that. Things are obviously not gonna go smoothly, and with my impatience and Fenris's habit to overreact and dramatize it can have a very traumatizing end for him.

So what, let's tell him "Um, you know, Fenris, I changed my mind. I can't see how this is _not_ gonna mess you up even more than now, so let's not even try. But please don't feel betrayed, mocked or too broken and incapable of relationships and emotional attachments. Problem is me, not you, though not really. I hope we still can be friends." That will be better?

Caught deep in the thoughts, I didn't notice how we walked up to the front door of the mansion. There was a moment of awkward silence as we hesitated at the threshold, glancing at each other cautiously. Then he slowly lifted my hand to his face, – I absently noted elusive tickling sensation when the unruly strand of his hair brushed against my skin, - and kissed it lightly. I blushed – entirely out of surprise of course, one guy gave me a hickey kissing my hand on the recent ball and I didn't blush. But Fenris noticed and grinned. And I'd bet he was such a heartbreaker before the ritual, because this grin and the way he looked up at me from under half-lowered eyelids were so maddeningly pleased, provokingly smug and just openly predatory that it was impossible to resist.

"You know, some orlesians are so narcissistic than when etiquette forces them to kiss a lady's hand, they kiss their own thumbs."

_Do I sound like Merrill? Damn, now I just need to trip over my feet. _

"Perhaps it's for the best." He finally released my hand, but kept that amused grin on "From what I gather in Hightown, this kind of men tends to wear rather greasy looking layer of lipstick."

I chuckled briefly, and for a few seconds we just stood there, smiling at each other. Then I kicked myself inwardly and finally stepped through the doorway "Well, see you soon."

"Always a pleasure."


	12. You're standing next to me

_Hey there, sorry it's really un-edited and abruptly paced, I lost contact with my beta. If anyone is willing to help, I'd be grateful :)_

* * *

><p><em>My body is a cage <em>  
><em>That keeps me <em>  
><em>From dancing with the one I love <em>  
><em>But my mind holds the key<em>

Fenris opened the Hanged Man's door and while the tavern's dim light, sour smell and drunk gibberish washed over him in a familiar wave of sensations, he scanned the crowd for any sign of the slavers. Everything seemed normal - or, more accurately, just customary for this tavern, since "normal" never really described the state of this place. This time there was nothing resembling suspiciously heavily armed men or anyone foreign-looking around, so he already took a step inside, when his eyes stumbled upon a familiar silhouette. Hawke sat at one of the tables with a man in city guards' armor. She looked agitated and even a little flushed, she was listening with an accented interest to something the man was saying and then exaggeratedly laughed, shaking her head.

Fenris felt air being kicked out of his lungs as if by a sudden punch in the chest. The first stiflingly hot wave that rushed in his head urged him to throw this guardsman right into the wall. The second bitter sting told him to walk to the table and just look into Hawke's eyes. He was at the third stage, about to leave right now and pretend nothing ever happened, including her fingers in his hand, when the mage looked over the crowd nervously, caught the sight of him and jumped up, beaming and waving her arms.

"Fenris! You're here! Finally_!_"

_Finally?_

"Heeey! That's me! What, did you walk into a Glyph of Paralysis, get over here!"

The elf walked up to her and slowly sat down in the chair that she pulled enthusiastically from under some unfortunate drunkard at the next table.

"You remember Donnic? The guardsman we – khmm – _Aveline _heroically saved from an ambush in the course of her brilliant investigation? And Donnic, it's Fenris, he was with us that night, if you can recall."

Both of them regarded each other with long studying looks and cautiously nodded in greeting. The guardsman turned to Hawke and asked sceptically.

"So, it's him you wanted me to meet there?"

"Yeaaaah…" she said with a strained wide smile of an actor who keeps playing his role on the stage that is burning all around him. "You see, I promised to find Fenris a new partner for the Diamondback."

The both of them stared at her with identical expressions of mistrustful surprise. She met Donnic's gaze with the same frozen smile and glass-clear eyes, and Fenris felt how under the table her nails frantically dug into his knee. He coughed, put his eyebrows down and made a vague motion somewhere between a shrug and a nod.

"I appreciate variety in selection of game partners."

The hand over his knee relaxed, but didn't entirely let go, as if expecting more troubles to come.

Fenris breathed out. So obviously Hawke wasn't flirting with this man, but actually arranged some sort of scam. For a second he wondered when his priorities went so wrong, that he considered the mage's fraud involving city's authorities to be a relief.

"But I told you I play the Diamondback only ten minutes ago." Donnic said suspiciously. Hawke's smile had become maniacally cheerful, and Fenris's knee was squeezed and shaken feverishly.

"Well, you know, you just look like the type. There's something about you that just told me you definitely play it…"

"She could be a great judge of the character," Fenris said, but couldn't stifle the specification. "If magic is not involved."

Hawke turned to him, rolling her eyes.

"You had to bring it up, yeah? You just couldn't help yourself. How did you even survive the whole day without me to pour out frustration?"

"It was easy, considering that I've encountered the main source of my frustration only a minute ago."

"And really, it's _my _judgement that is prejudiced? If I'm a black kettle, then you're the the insides of the raven's ear in the darkest hour of night in coal mines of the Deep Roads... "

"Ah, so you two are together!" Donnic announced suddenly, grinning, and Fenris involuntarily blushed. "Can't mistake old-married couple's fight for anything. Good, for a moment I thought you tried to set this up as a date."

"Ahahaha," Hawke forced out hysterically and there was terror in her eyes. "_No_. Nope, nonono, nooo..."

"If she didn't call you "bloody idiot" at least once, she isn't interested," Fenris interrupted her feverish flow of denial and Donnic laughed.

"I see. I'll give you some time then and go refill my mug and get us a deck of cards. Ale for you?.."

The mage raised her eyebrows questioningly at the elf, and when he nodded, said "No, ask Corf to get "Dragon's Daughter" from Hawke's reserve."

"And two cups?"

"Nah, we drink from the bottle."

The guardsman grinned again and walked to the bar-stand without asking if they need separate bottles. Hawke followed him with tense gaze, then groaned and hid her face in her palms "I will kill Aveline, I swear!"

"Care to elaborate?"

"Well, let's see. What would you think if someone comes up to you and gives you a copper relief of marigolds with no explanation?"

"That this makes no sense, so probably this thing is enchanted or cursed with blood magic. I would interrogate the one who brought this to me to find his connections with slavers."

"Riiiight… Let's add some context then. Let's say Varric comes up to you a few weeks ago and gives you… hmmm… no, copper full-sized hawk is too delirious… gives you a coin with a hawk engraved on it. What would you think then?"

"That you've probably lost your last grains of sanity and started to mint your own coin, and I apparently should stop you before Templars track you down by this?"

"How very caring of you." She huffed and tried to nudge him, but hit the edge of his chestplate with her elbow and hissed painfully. "But back to the marigolds. Their meaning is… and I quote there… "Metal is strong. Copper ages well. Flowers are soft."

Fenris blinked "It's a chain of truthful unrelated statements that doesn't have to do with anything."

"I know, right? I mean, I came to her office as she asked and right away she tells me "Go give this to Donnic and don't ask any questions, it's so important I can trust only you." And of course I was excited! I thought it was "cloaks and daggers" intrigue, that this guy will give me some password or direction to go, that we're hunting a spy or something like that! So I walk up to him and give him this garbage, and of course he's like "What the fuck is this?" And I stare at him and go "Um, I'm sure it's something very meaningful." And we both obviously thought that I'm an idiot, so I just retreated back to Aveline and redirected his question at her. And all she told me was that bullshit about strong metal and soft flowers!"

"I still can't see how strong metal and soft flowers lead you to drinking with him in the Hanged Man." Fenris reminded her softly. He always was secretly pleased that usually overly-confident and witty Hawke, when really distressed and confused, would throw lengthy, unfiltered complaints at him. Before lately, when he wasn't sure if Hawke likes his company at all, he knew that even if he couldn't be pleasant and sociable, at least she valued his direct and honest opinions. It gave him some reassurance, because when people complained about his unbearable sourness and tried to change subjects, as if he could only be tolerated for his unique combat skills or arguably attractive physical appearance, she accepted him with as a whole. And maybe he wasn't easy-going and light-hearted as others, but she relied on him when she was thrown off the balance or wanted to discuss something seriously.

"Oh, wait for it, we're just getting to the interesting part. Aveline didn't stop there; she made me basically stalk the guy. Like, I should go, do something ridiculous, then watch his reaction and report back to her, she would panic and send me to do something even more ridiculous."

"Aveline? Panic? Unusual, but clearly important."

"Yeah, so I did it for her, because I do stupid shit for friends if they ask me, but then she got to "You'll take three goats and a sheaf of wheat to his mother", and there I said that I draw the line. What? Why are you smirking? Do you realize that I'm not even physically capable of handling three goats and a sheaf of wheat? And if I haven't talked her out of it, you'd be _so_ going to that goat parade with me."

"Once again we're saved by your eloquence."

Hawke nudged him again, and he shifted to get the metal edge of his chestplate out of the way. She hit his ribs, gulped, and immediately the healing warmth ran soothingly over his side. He waved his hand dismissively to show that it was nothing, so she relaxed and made a face at him.

"So how did you talk her out of it?" Fenris asked, trying to fight a grin.

"Oh, I managed to discover that it's a _dowry_ tradition."

"A dowry? Then… this isn't about accusations."

"Yeah, it's all apparently Aveline's idea of courtship rituals."

"But she was married, wasn't she?"

"She was! I don't know, maybe her husband made a first move, or maybe she lived in some… community, where you send copper marigolds to the guy and three goats to his parents and next day you two just meet in the church and get married. She says that now she's so uncomfortable because she's a Captain, and it would look like taking advantage of a subordinate. So I told her to ask him out somewhere neutral."

"Good point. If existing relationship prevents a new one, go somewhere you are equal."

"But of course she's too scared to ask herself, so she made me invite him here. I walk up to him and he's eyeing me suspiciously, like "What this weird woman wants from me now", and I tell him that he should meet _someone_ this evening in the Hanged Man, wink-wink. And guess what? She chickened out! She didn't show up! Argh! So we just sit there in the most awkward silence imaginable, and Donnic constantly tries to escape, and I don't let him, buying another round of drinks and wishing I knew a spell that can make earth yawn and swallow me to save from this embarrassment. And on top of everything he obviously started thinking that _I'm _interested and… thanks the Maker, it was you who showed up!"

He stopped even trying to hide a grin.

"So, what's now?"

"Well, just play few rounds with him. Don't worry, I'll compensate your loses."

His smirk vanished when he raised his eyebrow at her.

"Compensate my loses? You assume I will lose?"

"No, it's not what I..."

"Your healer owes me a fortune despite the fact that I try to avoid his presence as much as possible."

"Huh, Anders owes my _dog _a fortune, he's really not the biggest challenge. And you know, isn't pretty much all that guards do is playing cards? There's nothing wrong about losing to the guy if it's his second specialization…"

His pride was stung and Fenris wasn't even sure why, but for some reason the thought of _her _giving someone else more credit than him was really irritating.

"If you have such faith that this man procrastinated on the his job enough to reach an unbeatable heights of card playing, maybe you should put your money on him, because I don't need..."

"Maker's breath, stop! I cannot _believe _we are arguing over this! Go ahead, strip the guy of all his money and undergarments, of course I'm rooting for you! I was just saying that if by some tragical glitch in world's order he'll manage to win, I'll back you up. "

He huffed and folded his arms, but smirked again.

"Just don't forget that our prior goal is not to ruin this man, but to bring him and Aveline together. So we need to… advertise her."

"How, exactly?"

"Oh, just say nice things about her. But, you know, do it subtly and naturally. Smoothly, so it's not right in the face. Just hints here and there."

At this moment Donnic returned to the table, and Hawke made a smile from ear to ear and said "So, Aveline is great!"

He was a bit uncomfortable at first, having to sit in the crowded place with his back open, but Hawke caught his glance and made them change seats to the table in the corner, claiming that she wants to play with a shadow theatre. Then she confiscated Fenris's left gauntlet on the basis that it's angles poke at her side and also this is "the only chance for this miserable combination of feathers and claws to make any sense" by imitating a shadow griffon. Fenris let her take it without raising any objections, warmed by a familiar wave of awkward gratitude, as always when she covered his insecurities in public by her pretendingly childish whims.

Donnic turned out to be a decent man and a good player, though unfortunately Fenris was too distracted to fully appreciate it. Hawke _wasn't _pestering him and somehow now it was a problem. She refused to play cards and instead narrated the adventures of Puffy the Griffon, using mugs, wine bottle, candles and other convenient objects as improvised props. Joyful and mischievous, laughing and trying to keep elf's gauntlet from slipping off her arm, she brightened everything around her like a flickering candlelight. He could catch faint notes of her smell - herbs and heated wood, and with the tavern's sour and stifling air, the thought of burying face in soft ruffled waves of her hair was more than just tempting. He remembered how warm and pliant and wonderful it felt when she fell asleep at his side in the last Satinalia, but then he didn't dare to even press his cheek against her head on his shoulder.

It was frustrating as if on morose foggy day a ray of sun fell on the spot right next to him and lingered so close that his skin itched for the warmth. But other than in cases of emergency, Hawke always kept on the distance he'd himself set, and unfortunately, years of staring contests let them to channel just about any message, but not the "I want you in my arms" one. But if one wanted to feel sunshine, they should move under it's rays themselves. It was logical and so simple, and yet Fenris was driven into a hidden helpless rage by his own maddening inability to even put his arm around her shoulders. The dissonance between how much he wanted and how paralyzed he became at the mere thought of actually doing it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Donnic attributed elf's grim expression to him having shitty cards, bet huge and lost, but Fenris still couldn't manage a smile.

He took a deep breath, raised his arm, panicked and instead covered her hand on a bench between them with his palm. Hawke gazed down in surprise, but then she looked up, smiled brilliantly and laced their fingers together, and suddenly tight knot between his collarbones turned into soft ball of light. He looked away from her hastily, but wide grin fought it's way onto his face anyway.

Donnic saw his struggles, said "Screw it, you'd gotta have the best hand to beam like that" and folded.

Hawke leaned into Fenris ever so slightly, with lazy grace of a curious cat checking out his cards, rubbed her thumb against his skin under the table and murmured innocently "Yeah, he's got the best hands, this lucky bastard."

Fenris blushed from the ears' tips down and he wasn't sure it stopped even at the neck. Donnic grinned and shook his head at them.

For some time he just sat quietly, savoring this touch, greedily, almost feverishly trying to capture all sensations to be able to invoke them later, because it was not going to last. It felt so pleasant, and when anything remotely good happened to him, it was tainted by guilt, shame and fear, or was going to end soon and very badly. It didn't have to be a disaster this time, though, because soon Hawke would break it herself. He didn't even think about it, Hawke was restless, impulsive and switched her attention between things constantly. She'll need to take a sip from the bottle or make a new shadow, and she'll take her hand away without even noticing something so simple and trivial. Resigned, but still tense, he waited and counted seconds, caught in distressful rhythm of "Next second, it'll end next second… Oh, it didn't. Then the next second, it's fine, it's nothing, I don't care… It's still there and she's smiling... Then the next second..." Then he noticed how Hawke scratched her nose against her shoulder, and anxiety struck him, making him let go of her, though he couldn't bring himself to move his hand away. She put up with discomfort, but didn't move because he clinged to her pathetically, and pity was something he couldn't bear, especially not from her.

She looked up at him, but Fenris pointedly stared at his cards. Then her hand finally moved, but didn't left. Slender fingers slowly slid up from the base of his palm until her fingertips found his. This gentle movement kicked the breath out of his chest, which usually required at least an Ogre's charge, but happened already twice this evening.

It was an reenactment of that accident in the Bone Pit Mines, when he caught her wrist and she pressed her palm against his, but he couldn't lace their fingers. An echo of the lost opportunity, second chance at something he never thought he could have any chances to begin with. He didn't think she remembered it and he was sure up until now it didn't mean anything to her. He bit the inside of his lip and intertwined their fingers, this time without the disguise of an accident, and she squeezed his hand, smiling radiantly.

They sat like that, hand in hand, for the rest of the evening. She trailed patterns on his skin, lighter than a breath, and, for the first time Fenris could remember, his markings simply didn't matter, ignored and over-written by her fingertips. If he haven't watched her for years, he'd swear she's using blood magic, because his heart's speed and inappropriate blood rashes were entirely too unproportional for such innocent caress.

Watching her cautiously from the corner of the eye, he slowly drew a circle on her skin with his thumb. Her fingers gave a brief tremble in his hand and her eyelashes fluttered like wings of an agitated bird. Then her own thumb circled his and she threw quick, glowingly amber glance at him sideways - a reminder that this bird's wings are made of fire. He suddenly felt drunk, though he barely touched the wine this evening.

Then strange realization hit him - it was the first time when he actually shared this simple gesture with anyone, just because in all his years of being taken advantage of and going through every imaginable humiliation, nobody ever bothered to demand it from him. He was a piece of flesh made valuable by lyrium under his skin and his excellent combat skills, so why would anyone care to just hold his hand. But she was there, warm and sincere and radiant, as if she was actually enjoying this and not just settling for it because he couldn't offer her more. Fenris always had to fight and claw his way for everything that was trivial for others and the idea of just _reaching out_ for someone seemed ridiculous in it's improbability. But with her he didn't need to drum feverishly like a fly against the glass to just be considered worthy of response, he knew he wouldn't be ignored and even - absolutely unfathomable concept - he could count on positive response.

He realized that this intoxicating lightness in his bones was a feeling of safety. Of being able to choose his own pace, not worrying about being used or mocked, and affecting her just as much as he was affected. Of not being an object.

He squeezed her hand gingerly, received a responsive caress of her fingertips alongside his palm and smiled. Donnic cursed and, unintentionally deceived, folded again.

* * *

><p>"So, is Bianca visiting her mother and I can finally spend a night in the enchanted chest hair forest?" Hawke was moving around Varric's room in dancing gait of hers, which she had when she was drunk or amused enough to be distracted from the weight of endless quests on her shoulders.<p>

"Unfortunately, she left it filled with traps."

"Oh, I admire her resourcefulness."

"Hawke, we need to talk," Varric made a necessary dramatic pause "About Athenril."

Hawke stopped at her tracks and corners of her mouth went down so quickly that it looked like her smile was turned upside down, but she pretended to not get the question "Who?"

_Dear girl, people whose bluff is worse than yours are as rare as lyrium-branded moody elves._

"You know, the one who ambushed us today at the square in front of the Blooming Rose."

"Thugs jump on us all the time. What's so special about this one?"

"Well, first of all, Athenril is not a common thug. She has an established smuggling business and most of the time tries to not get blood on her hands. At least not if she can help it."

"Well, maybe she got tired of robbing orphans and decided to do something exciting."

"And she was screaming your name."

"Oh, really? I didn't notice. Woohoo, it seems I'm getting a real recognition in this city! Good job, Varric, people can identify me just from your descriptions!"

"Hawke."

"Varric. Now you say Hawke again."

He just gave her a stern glare. She sat down and rubbed her neck.

"Duh, okay. I have a bit of a history with Athenril. You know I had to spend a year in Red Iron's servitude to get in the city, right? Well, I actually had a choice between Meeran and Athenril. I chose Meeran, because though Red Irons do bloody work, at least most of the time you fight against bandits or mercenaries, people who know what they signed for. Bullying storekeepers and blackmailing widows is really not my style."

"Don't try to tell me she was offended that you chose Meeran and tried to kill you years later."

"Of course not. The thing is, I talked to her and as a test she sent me to shake gold out of a local merchant. The guy was a complete asshole, milked refugees for their last money. So I got two sovereigns from him and I kept them and went to Meeran. And I don't feel bad about it at all, because both of them weren't innocent lambs and I needed to provide for my family in the foreign city. So, that's it."

Varric studied her, rubbing his chin "And she waited for years and then openly attacked you, aiming for murder? This doesn't sound like her. I'd say Athenril would ambush you alone in the dark alley within a week and try to mug twice as much gold as you owed her."

"I don't owe her shit," Hawke grunted and folded her arms. "And I'm not responsible for her acting stupid."

Varric sighed. _Time to switch tactics._

"Hawke, I'm not asking this out of curiosity. You see, Athenril is kind of a big player in certain criminal circles, so people are asking me if you want to take over her business or did you became some mad vigilante to fight crime or..."

"Maker's balls, no! Nothing like this!"

"Then tell me the truth so I can tell them the most convenient lie and cover you up."

She gave him a long wary look.

"Promise you won't tell anyone, not those criminals, not in your tavern stories and especially not to anyone in our merry band."

"I swear on my neck-chain. Now spit it out."

Hawke sighed heavily.

"She did ambush me within a week in the dark alley alone and demanded gold. I told her to stick it, she started threatening me, we argued and called each other names, things became... tense and... um, hot, and we..."

"Got into a fight?"

"No. Well, yeah, but it was just a part of... the process, not the main... act."

Here Varric got it and clapped his hands.

"Oh no! You didn't just screw her up, you screwed _her_! Rivaini would be so proud of you."

"Well, unlike Isabela, I don't like killing people I've slept with."

"Yeah? I thought you said you don't like killing people you respect."

"I don't sleep with people who I don't respect."

"Nice borderline. What happened after?"

Hawke shrugged. "She would appear once in a few months, we'd have fun and she'd disappear again. That's it."

"How is that I've never knew?" After initial excitement over juicy news Varric's pride of information broker was somewhat stung.

"Well, she's a smuggler. I guess she's better at her job than you at yours." Hawke leered, obviously taking small revenge after her embarrassment.

"So what ruined a paradise in the dirty alleys?"

"She showed up few days ago and I told her we need to stop it. For some reason she didn't take it well, though I even offered her ten sovereigns for two that I've got from her back then."

"I wonder why she wasn't thrilled. The only other thing you could do for her was to send good references to the Blooming Rose."

"I didn't mean it that way! I mean, she's interesting person for sure, I do respect her and her attempt at keeping an ethic code even if I can't accept things she does. But I realize that I have no right to judge her when she managed to get herself into position of power despite unfair social disadvantages. To become so influential, being a woman and an elf, in out fucked up world is really worthy of respect. I do not wish her harm, that's why I didn't kill her last time, but if she keeps attacking, I'll have no choice."

Varric drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully.

"I'll try to contact her and smooth things over. She's usually a very reasonable woman, perhaps when the anger will fade, she'll listen."

"Thank you, my friend." Hawke said heartily and rubbed her temples. "I don't understand why she's so mad at all. It's not like we had meaningful relationship or something. We didn't even talk! Well, apart from namecalling and threats. It was purely sex."

Varric sighed. Hawke is too direct and self-absorbed for subtlety.

"Sometimes people can't voice their feelings. They imply it in casual words or in their actions, but never say out loud."

"And how I'm supposed to know? I'm not a blood mage, I can't read minds!"

"You'll notice if you feel the same."

"Bullshit." Hawke muttered stubbornly, looking like an angry child who just discovered that fire burns and you can do nothing about it.

"Anyway, why have you decided to end it now?"

"Urgh, well, I'm a respectable citizen now, one of the nobility, so I, um, can't allow back-alleys affairs with criminals to spoil my reputation."

"Really?"

She met his eyes with a daring look "Why else?"

Varric cleared his throat. "Well, people say you and the elf, you know, the angsty Tevinter one, are becoming quite the item."

"The angsty one? You mean there is non-angsty Tevinter elf around? What, Fenris has a cheerful evil twin and nobody told me?"

Varric rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I just find it funny that when you're concerned about someone, you're trying to hide it by describing them in the most generic stereotypes. Like if you call them by names, people can think you care, and you're too cool for this."

"You're switching the subject."

"You too. But well, okay, I did tell him there's no one else."

"You realize that if Athenril managed to hide all tracks so even I didn't know, then the elf would never find out?"

"It's not my style. And... he doesn't deserve those lies. It's important for him and to meet honesty with low tricks would be... Besides, this thing with Athenril was getting old anyway. Sure, rough kisses, fights, deep scratches, bites and burning hickeys are fun, but..."

"Sorry, burning hickeys?"

"I'm a fire mage, Varric."

"Oh, right."

"So, hate sex is fun for some time and a great way to release tension, but it starts lacking fuel after a while. Fights over two sovereigns lose meaning and purpose soon, you know. Just passion and lust is not enough for me."

Varric generally approved of her and the elf getting together - if anyone could make him laugh, it's Hawke, it's useful for her to have critical counterpoint to her hot-headed idealism, and, again, anything to divert their attention from endless wrangling about magic. But there was danger of some common illusions on Hawke's part. The last thing the elf needs is an image of a mysterious lone wolf looming over him. But Varric knew that the best way to break an appeal of a romantic vision is a ridiculous comparison.

"Listen, as your friend, I feel I'll be doing you a bad service if I didn't say something. You do know the elf is covered in spikes, like an angsty porcupine? He might have some.. issues."

"I was thinking of an angsty hedgehog, actually. They're much more adorable."

Varric chuckled, shaking his head.

"You can't be romantic to save your life, Hawke. And... adorable? Are we talking about same Fenris or evil twins are really involved?"

Hawke titled her head a little and looked at the dwarf from under lowered eyelashes, all calm judgmental grace of nobility that sometimes arises in her.

"I'm talking about the brilliant sarcastic guy with the most radiant smile..."

"What? He never smiles!"

"...who is so lonely and harsh on himself that he thinks there's no one who'd care to see him smiling."

Varric shut his mouth before making a sound, and Hawke leaned towards him with a small smirk, still managing to keep her chin high, and continued just as serenely.

"But he smiles to me sometimes, and I'm not gonna pass it up."

Varric accepted it with a grin and a shrug, and she sat back, instantly losing regal posture and the tone.

"And heeeey, I can be romantic when I want to!"

"Yeah, name me one romantic thing you did."

"Well, I... listened to love poems for two hours straight last week."

"Oh, from that guy here, in the Hanged man, who "courts" Isabela? "Your lips are like the wings of sparrows. Red ones. With no feathers."

"Yeah! He asked my advice, since I'm her friend, and I told him to go with insects metaphors more. I can't wait to hear with what he'll come up with, this guy is priceless!"

"That's not romantic at all, Hawke."

"Huh? And what you'll say if I listen to our poet and tell him that his most golden lines are bad, so no one else would ever hear them?"

"I'll say I'm writing a book "The most romantic blackmailer" about you."

"That's more like it."

* * *

><p>"Oh, come on, there should be at least one good stick somewhere..." I muttered, stumbling around the flower-bed. Bloody Hightown, you can't find a decent stick, everything is spiky, frail or so exotic you can't be sure your dog can chew on it without being poisoned or turned into a parrot.<p>

"There are certainly quite enough sticks to be extracted from local residents, but they come from places you'd better not let your dog taste."

I laughed and straightened up, turning to face Fenris, who sat on a bench near the flower-bed. We waited for Aveline to go on patrol with Donnick, but she couldn't muster the courage to tell him they're going together the whole morning. At first we were hanging around the Viscount Keep, but then Varric told us that we two should be less noticeable. Fenris said he's sorry he doesn't have proportions to be covered by a chair, I smirked and Varric told us to get out and wait nearby. So we found this little court between Hightown mansions with good view on the Keep's gates, and I scared away two judgmental noblewomen with my Fereldan Barbarian routine.

Fenris smirked at me and rolled his shoulders back lazily. There were painfully cracking sounds, like the avalanche of small rocks bumping between cliffs.

"Maker's breath, Fenris! I've heard undead skeletons make more healthy sounds with their joints!"

"Then I apologize for unpleasant noises during my vital functions."

"I mean, your back must hurt like mad."

He gave me a look of a slight bewilderment that said _Don't you know that life is a pain?_

"It's tolerable. I'm used to it."

"It doesn't have to hurt, you know."

There was another, more stern glare meant to remind me that maybe backs of privileged mages, who wear light robes and about nothing in their bags, indeed don't have to hurt, because some warriors carry everything heavy for them alongside with their own weapons, which weigh more than aforesaid mages. I groaned, rolling my eyes, and explained myself.

"I've raised a brother who carries those ridiculous two-handed weapons too, remember? And Carver is not the one to stay silent about things that bother him."

"So I've noticed. We all were intimately familiar with the occurrence of a rock in his boot or your shadow over his self-esteem."

"Point is, I know what I'm doing when it comes to the strained back. Let me help."

"There's no actual problem. It doesn't affect my performance in a fight."

I sighed. He would follow you to hell without as much as blinking an eye, but a shoulder-rub offer unsettles him into the state of nervous clinking pyramide of class cups. It's probably because he's more used to being hurt than taken care of, so I reminded myself to be patient.

"It matters even if it doesn't... ugh, affect your functionality. It shouldn't hurt at all, you know." I felt stupid saying those completely basic and obvious things out loud, but he stared at me blankly, so I sighed and turned back to searching for a stick "Okay, if you ever feel comfortable enough to get a shoulder-rub, let me know."

This… whatever is it going on between us has to be the most confusing and weird relationship I've ever had. On the one hand, I don't have to worry that he discovers something embarrassing or off-putting about me. We literally spent years criticizing every little flaw and acting like utter fools in front of each other. On the other hand, I don't have the slightest idea how I'm supposed to act. No patterns that I've encountered with any other people fit for Fenris. He's simultaneously proud, but insecure, direct, but awkwardly secretive about his own discomforts. And even if sometimes he's sending non-verbal signals that scream "Let's fuck right now", you have to remember he doesn't really mean it and probably doesn't realize it either. This pacing seems excruciating, especially with me painfully trying to stay in the "Let him know he has some option" zone without falling into "Pressuring him into doing it".

Rex was fidgeting around me, getting underfoot and trying to catch my eyes enthusiastically. I groaned.

"Look, I'm trying to find you a stick, really, and if you want it so badly, how about you go search for it too?"

Rex barked and ran away, and then Fenris' wary voice said behind my back.

"I guess it's worth a try."

"Nah, don't bother, Rex will find a stick or just steal someone's umbrella."

"No, I meant..."

"Oh," I turned around and met his eyes "Are you sure?"

He shrugged.

"It's unreasonable to not try improving your conditions if you have a chance, I suppose."

He was in his "hedgehog in a second before curling up" state that I haven't seen in such intensity since the first time I had to heal him in the Deep Roads. I circled him slowly, showing my bare hands and not making any sudden movements.

"Look, if you'll want me to stop at any moment, just say it. It may hurt just a bit, because muscles are strained, but I'll try to make it painless." I usually say soothingly-reassuring stuff like this when I do something like pulling bits of shattered knife from the patient's guts, but the Darktown clinic taught me that everyone has their own threshold of panic, and for Fenris it's "someone is touching me". I remember comparing him to the ruins of ancient palace once, but now I think he's more like those Antivian volcanos I've read about. They look like cold, unmoving mountains until one day their temper erupts and then it's all clouds of smoke and ash, and burning lava destroying everything around. After that, they cool down and start brooding, looking stern and unapproachable in their grim spiky rocks. But with a time they start to open up a little, with a soft grass coming up from under the ash, and it's unexpectedly beautiful. Once Fenris starts to trust you, his light and endearingly awkward tenderness show up in the most trivial things - glances, smiles, rare touches. Damn, he managed to make a hand-holding an emotionally challenging process.

He nodded, familiar jerk of the head when the invisible string is pulled. I slowly lowered my hands to his shoulders and was actually surprised he didn't flinch.

To call Fenris' back "tense" would be as much of an understatement as to say that the Orleasian Empress has a few fancy dresses. The neck of a criminal waiting for the executioner's axe to fall down is tense, and it's nowhere close to Fenris' stiffness. His back and shoulders were solid, unmovable surface. I'd need "Stone to flesh" spell before I can do anything productive with it. Part of my mind, responsible for provoking and stupid ideas, perked up immediately.

_How about..._

No!

_But it should help, and you know you were dying of curiosity to see if it really works since the moment you've heard it..._

No! He'll just freak out. Shut up!

I sighed silently and started stroking his shoulders, very lightly and slowly. It couldn't have any real effect, but I needed him to relax at first. Use of a healing magic would only alarm him more - and if he stiffens even a bit more, he'll turn into a gargoyle. And telling him to relax would have the same effect as shouting "Stop!" at the running thief. I keep telling Aveline that if she wants arrests to be more effective, instead of "City Guards, open now!" she should say "Prostitutes!" when she knocks.

"Tell me if something is wrong," he jerked upright, and I added quickly "No, it's just that I'm trying to find out if anyone is capable of coming up with something that isn't already in the Great and Overarching List of Carver's Complaints."

He turned to me ever so slightly, shoulders drawing back again slowly "I'm afraid I'll disappoint you on that."

"Oh well, I'm not really expecting anyone to succeed. I mean, how can you beat "Duuh, careful, I'm not your dirty rags that you're trying to wash" or "If that's how you grope your lovers asses, I pity poor bastards." I said that I don't touch asses as pimpled as his back, and he threw a tantrum, stormed away and then Dad gave me _the talk_ and I had to apologize, for my good taste, apparently. Oh, Carver's puberty was a rough time for the whole family."

My casual blabbering did help to ease tension, as I hoped, but that's not saying much. Going from adamantine to "just" iron doesn't really help the situation. I tried to knead his shoulders and realized that yeah, this is it, this is his normal, "relaxed" state.

_Try it!_

Go away.

_Come on!_

This back is a travesty. That's not how it should go to have any results. It should be without cloth, and with many herbal ointments and oils and healing spells and it should be the reconstruction of all of this tense misery up to the relocating the joints, and I'd still not expect the results in the first couple of weeks. Maker's breath, if the first thing someone wants to do with you after getting you in bed naked is fixing your spine, you know you're fucked up really bad.

_DO IT._

"Um, Fenris? I don't know if you're aware, but muscles of your back are unhealthy strained, and by "unhealthy" I mean "Holy shit, how do you even live with that?" In Darktown clinic I learned one spot behind elven ears that helps to loosen up quite efficiently. It doesn't hurt and it's not magic, so if you don't mind, can we try it?"

He didn't say anything, but there was an abrupt shudder as if his body reflexively jerked away from me, but he stopped himself at the beginning of the motion, and almost a hiss of breath being sucked in through clenched teeth. An agitated volcano trying to choke down an explosion.

"Oh, okay then, we won't try it, nah, it probably wouldn't do much good anyway." I said immediately, without waiting for his answer. He slowly exhaled and tilted his shoulders back to me.

"I… do not think that even if it's usually effective, it would help in my case," he said in apologetic tone, glancing at me sideways.

"That's okay, as I've said, I won't do anything that makes you uncomfortable," I smiled with reassurance. "You don't have to explain yourself." He eyed me warily, but stiff muscles under my fingers slowly relaxed again.

Being around him was like a painting with an inverted colors, where the sky is black with green bushes of the clouds and earth is a mess of bright blue, dark purple and occasional lightning strikes of lava. Things that usually tricky are simple, and things that usually simple are complicated. I don't have the map of this volcano, sometimes I can't distinguish hidden cracks and traps, I can't even figure out the pace. I have to cautiously examine where I step to make sure it doesn't blow up or cave in, because this volcano is painfully aware of it's own weirdness. You set your foot down, feel the warning tremble, back the fuck off and then reassure your oversensitive explosive mountain that everything is ok. Then you wait until ground stops shaking and try to move the other way, avoiding a sore spot.

After few moments of silence he asked, obviously trying to change the subject and sound nonchalantly "You've learned it from Anders?"

"Nope, from an old elven hooker."

Fenris let out completely humorless and cold "Huh."

"No, really. She had a rheumatism strike in the middle of... her work, but she managed to make it to the clinic and I helped her. She insisted she has to repay me by revealing one of her secrets."

"Oh."

"Well, it was elven ear or dwarven tailbone, and I only barely managed to convince her that one of them is more than enough."

He laughed softly, sleek muscles of his shoulders shaking slightly under my fingers.

"The thing is, people often want to repay for kindness, and since they don't have money, - and I wouldn't take it anyway, - they share knowledge. By now I know all places in the city where elfroot and deathroot grow, about twenty recipes for cooking rats and nugs, and how to train a fighting beetle."

"Valuable assets."

"There's also one dwarf, he's brought to the clinic after fights just about every week and I don't know how, but even unconscious he manages to bring flowers for me. He keeps telling me that if anyone ever bothers me, I just have to say him a word."

"Should I be jealous?"

"Absolutely! The guy has ants in his beard and so many missing teeth that when he says "Guuurl, your bootiful", I'm not sure if it's bad pronouncing or he really means it."

He chuckled, looking up at me over his shoulder and leaning just a little into a touch. I brushed my fingers over the sides of his neck, way more fondly than I expected from myself, and got embarrassed over it. Luckily, at this moment Rex ran up to us with a stick in his teeth and started making circles around the bench, wiggling excitedly. I smirked and reached for it, but when my hands left Fenris' shoulders, he leaned down and took the stick first.

"I can do it, if you don't mind."

"Sure," I grinned to myself and ran my fingers down his spine. He arched his back just a little, let out small low groan and then tried to cover it with this amusing half-chuckle half-cough, which he always uses to conceal his embarrassment. I grinned wider.

"This is astonishingly unregal behavior for someone with your name," the elf said strictly to Rex, who was jumping with impatience in front of him.

"What? Unregal?"

"His name is Rex," Fenris told me, as if it should've explained everything, and absent-mindedly threw the stick. Mabari launched after it immediately.

"Um... yeah, I'm well aware of this."

"Rex means "King" in Arcanum. It was the title of the first rulers of Tevinter."

"But... There' are no kings in the Emperium, right, just magisters?"

"When humans first arrived, they had a dynasty of kings, which was later overthrown by the Court of Magisters. I thought you named your dog as... an ironic reference, did you not?"

This is the special kind of embarrassment - having to tell the guy who second-guessed your every decision for years that he gives you too much credit.

"No, but it does sound like something I'd do! Varric would love this version, he'll add something about me secretly being the last offspring of the dynasty and my great destiny and other stuff he loves."

"But... Rex doesn't mean anything in Common. Why did you give him that name?"

There are all kinds of stories that could be told about you, from "Awesome tales that can get you laid" to "Utterly embarrassing episodes of your childhood that you parents love to tell guests, because they think it's freaking cute." The story of Rex being named belongs to the last type, so I never tell it, especially not to people I want to be attracted to me. But, well, just three days ago Fenris had to pull me from dangling in sticky giant spider's web – and it wasn't a solitary incident, but he's still here. If there's anyone to whom I couldn't disgrace myself more than I've already did, it's probably him.

"When Dad showed him to us for the first time, Rex was a devastatingly cute fluffy ball with those adorable eyes that sometimes you... "

In the last moment I realized what I was saying and choked down "make".

"...can see him making even now."

Phew, that was a close one!

"Of course, we kids were gushing over him, and Beth asked what his name was. Dad said that the one he'd imprint on will name him. And then I... well, I asked him what is his name, and he made this cutely barking noise, like "Rrrrex!", so..."

"Wait," Fenris turned to me, looking up from under the raised eyebrows, "you asked a_ dog _what was his name?"

"I was a _kid_! Kids are allowed to be ridiculous," he continued to stare at me, and I gulped "And sit still, please!"

He turned away, but tried to glance at me over his shoulder.

"And how did he choose you?"

I sighed.

"Dad put him in the center of room, each of us standing few feet away. Carver was stomping his feet at the floor and screaming "Come here!" – apparently, it was his idea of showing strong character, Beth was hiding a chicken leg, and I just sat down and went "Rex, Rex!" He ran to me, probably because he thought I was a puppy too, just more stupid, we "rexed" at each other for next half an hour, and well, the thing with an imprint was done."

I waited for him to laugh, smirk or at least make a sardonic remark, but he was silent for few seconds.

"You haven't changed at all since then, have you," his voice was soft and little husky, a layer of enveloping volcanic ash with just teasing hints of glowing embers underneath.

"Look, you've got it all wrong from you flattery textbook. This phrase is for an old flame to complement her appearance after not seeing her for years, not to equate someone's level of mental development with children."

"I'm sorry. Obviously, standard textbooks can't do you any justice," he looked up at me with that maddening little smile, his eyes all gleaming laugh and deep enticing green of the forest's spring. I chuckled weakly. It's just confusing to receive a sudden flash of eyesex in the middle of exchanging sarcastic jabs and then go on like nothing happened, 'tis all I'm saying.

Meanwhile, Rex returned, but when Fenris tried to take the stick from him, the mabari apologetically wiggled his tail and dodged. I bit my lip to hide a grin. Fenris frowned and reached down again, but Rex jumped away, then circled the elf and run up to my feet.

"Why is this sudden outburst of loyalty?" Fenris asked, sceptically raising one eyebrow. Rex gave him a wheedling look, but stayed at my side. I couldn't help myself and burst out laughing.

"What? What is so funny?"

"You're throwing too far. When I make a throw, he usually manages to catch the stick before it hits the ground. For yours, he had to run for a couple of minutes." I leaned against Fenris' shoulders, chuckling and desperately trying to stop myself from burying my face in his soft disheveled hair. "I wouldn't be able to throw it with both hands half as far as you do without even paying attention."

"This laziness is terribly unbecoming for the noble beast of your status," the elf said with overly serious disappointment, and Rex tried to hide behind my legs from his reproachful gaze.

"I think he ought to be taught a lesson," Fenris stated, lifted his head and bumped into my chin. We both froze. It felt like my jaw was resting on the fluffy cloud that had an earthy smell of old leather, iron and, strangely, herbal tea. I waited for him to move away, but he didn't, and after few moments I breathed out and relaxed my fingers at his shoulders. Without looking, I extended my hand and the stick's end poked at my palm immediately. Rex barked excitedly when I took the stick, but I just handed it to Fenris.

"So," the elf said, turning head for a bit to look at the mabari, and his soft bangs tickled the underside of my chin. I grinned stupidly and got back to kneading his shoulders, and it took alarmingly too much of my willpower reserves to keep from burying my fingers and face in this silken cloud of hair.

Rex flattened his ears and made the most sorrowful look his big eyes could master, but Fenris continued firmly "You shouldn't try to elude exercises greater than you're used to, or how else will you become greater than you are?"

He swung his arm and the stick flew over the distant bushes. The mabari whined in resignation and ran after it.

"I usually walk him at least once a day" I said warily "You can join us. If you want to, of course."

"Yes, I'd like that," Fenris answered without hesitation, and I quietly sighed in content. Ruffled light strands of his hair quivered slightly under my breath and I grinned, glad that he couldn't see my expression and simultaneously a bit disappointed that I couldn't see his. Sure, all this tip-toeing is exhausting, but sometimes you stumble into hidden meadows, and there's soft grass and sunshine and low melodical rumbling of the warm streams, and suddenly it's all worth it.

_This fragile thing between us is weird and confusing, but, hey, I still like it and I want to see what it can grow into._

A sudden outraged cry ringed out from the other side of the court. I started and jumped up to look over the bushes.

"Oh, shit..."

"What's it?"

"Your stick just struck the magistrate."

"Oh. I didn't mean to..."

"Well, it's not gonna be his biggest problem. He's about to get a mabari charging at him at full speed."

There was a second cry, loud and terrified.

"Yeah, that's it."

"Won't he be harmed?.."

"Nah, Rex doesn't bite random people without a command. The most danger the magistrate is facing is being drooled over and slightly crumpled if he doesn't let go of the stick fast enough. I think we should execute a tactical retreat before Rex leads him to us."

"Wise decision."

* * *

><p>Isabela put a final stroke into the carving she was making on the stairwell and straightened up with a sigh. Creamed poisoned buttcakes, where Hawke could have been? The pirate sneaked into the mage's bedroom a couple of hours ago, got tired of waiting and had to re-enter the mansion through a proper door to ask where's Hawke. The elderly dwarf said that the Mistress is out walking her dog. <em>Unless she's walking her mabari to her homeland in Ferelden, I can't imagine what's taking her so long. <em>

Isabela never waited for anyone, unless it was an ambush. It was generally easier to just find someone else available at the moment. But firstly, Hawke always waited for Isabela, and secondly, she was one of the kind. Weird pyromantic kind, sure, but still.

Hawke's limits of acceptance were extraordinary. She had very few conditions of basic decency, like "don't hurt innocents" or "no slavery", and then she wouldn't have a problem with you unless you had a problem with her. Isabela, sceptical at first, tried pushing her patience to expose a border of this acceptance, waited for disgusted label of "slut" to blurt out, but got only firm and annoyed "Izzy, I'm glad you had a great time, but I'm really not interested in details, so please spare me this." The only time the pirate caught something resembling disdain was when Isabela asked the mage if she visits The Blooming Rose. She scoffed and said "I don't pay for sex."

It irked Isabela, so she set up a meeting in the brothel and purposely showed up late. She expected Hawke to be uncomfortable and tense around people she presumably despised, but walked in to the vivid discussion of different corset's producers. ("Tevinter is the worst! Makerdamned feathers everywhere! Antivian are great, but their suppliers won't even deal with you if you don't order it in a package with a poison set.")

With time, Isabela realized that Hawke really didn't care what you do with your own private life, but she _herself _never paid for sex. It was part of her peculiar brand of narcissism - she wouldn't sleep with someone who didn't enjoy it, and if they did enjoy, then why should she pay for it?

And that was a good thing too, because falling for Hawke would be too damn easy. Isabela understood it early on and kept herself in check all those years, since the moment she realized that she'd really follow this girl into the Deep Roads if she asked.

The reason was simple, really. In Hawke's presence, you _mattered_. She was like a fully weaponized battleship that some madman uses for transporting flowers. Equipped with thick armor of self-confidence and capable of massive destruction, but genuinely, actively, terribly kind. That's why kittens let her take them down from the trees, small children stopped crying around her, and strangers ran up to her for help, ignoring guards. And if you were treated like shit your whole life and told that you're worth just a few coins, meeting this loyal, bright, sincere girl, who doesn't judge you and wouldn't sell you out even for a fortune, who will fight for you no matter the odds… It was intoxicating. You got used to Hawke covering your back. Then you started wondering how things could be different had you met her earlier. And then you were scared that one day she won't be here for you, because she got rich, moved into fancy ancestral estate and if she'll convince herself that she found her planned "True love", she might settle down, start making kids and then there wouldn't be anything tying her with some wretched pirate.

A door creaked and enthusiastic mabari ran in, followed by uncharacteristically flushed Hawke with an absent-minded smirk dancing on her lips and a book in her hands. She finally noticed the rogue and beamed.

"Isabela! Hey there!"

"You're taking a book to walk your mabari?"

"It's not for me!"

"You mean it's for the dog?"

"No," Hawke said and blushed. _Huh, now I'm curious. _Isabela moved smoothly to the mage's side and snatched the book from her hands, expecting something obscene. It was "The Legend of Calenhad".

_Blushing over a historical book? I don't even want to know._

"So, what brings you here?" Hawke already steadied herself and grinned nonchalantly "You so rarely grace my humble residence with your delightful presence that I start thinking you don't like it."

"It's not bad. But I preferred the old place. It had... more charm."

"You're talking about the shack I shared with my mother, brother, and uncle?"

"I meant Lowtown. Dirty, chaotic, glorious Lowtown." Isabela grinned wickedly and slowly circled Hawke to lean suggestively against the wall. "The smell of tar and the sea, and the sound of some whore plying her trade in a back alley - don't you miss that?"

"But Hightown can be fun too! I didn't think I would enjoy noble parties, but it's hilarious to be an exotic novelty. I just walk around and act like I'm appalled at the most trivial things, and they panic. The other day I asked one snooty lady "Are you really going to drink _that _wine with _this _cheese?" and she almost choked. Though this doesn't work when Seneschal Bran shows up - you just can't out-snob this guy. With him I'm doing the Fereldan Barbarian, and he barely manages to restrain himself from strangling me." Hawke grinned with strange combination of wistfulness and mischief that Isabela couldn't imagine on anyone else "But really, they are not all that terrible, mostly just sad people confused about their own importance."

"Hightown's nice enough, I suppose, for people who like clean streets and polite neighbors." Isabela grinned predatorily "But we're not like those people, are we? We play by our own rules."

She stepped up from the wall and moved slowly to Hawke.

"Speaking of playing… why don't we go off and have a little bit of… girly fun?"

"What? Like shopping?"

Isabela barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Hawke couldn't catch a hint until it's dead body starts to smell.

"No, silly," the pirate wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and edged closer to the mage. "Us, together. Telling secrets, exploring each other's hidden… depths."

"Oh, a slumber party! Great, we should get Aveline here and tease her about Donnic!"

It took all of Isabela's extensive experience of keeping straight face in card games and lying to authorities to keep herself from groaning, but she managed.

"Remember, last week you said to one bandit that you don't give a flying fuck about his threats? I just thought - you're a Force Mage, technically, you _can _give a flying fuck, right?"

Hawke stared at her blankly with a questioning half-smirk.

"I've never tried it. It sounds like fun," the mage still looked puzzled, with her head tilted to a side like bird. "Wanna show me how it's done?"

Hawke blinked a couple of times, then narrowed her eyes. She stared at Isabela for few moments with her lips pressed into a thin line, then said coldly.

"I'm sure there are many force-specialists in the Circle who'd be thrilled to help you."

Isabela kept her face under control and when her lips twitched, she turned it into a careless smirk.

"Suit yourself. I'll just find my giggles elsewhere. No hard feelings."

The pirate managed to make it two steps behind the mage, when Hawke's short temper finally exploded.

"I thought we were friends!"

Isabela took a deep breath before turning around, but even her exceptional bluffing skills couldn't keep a smile on her face when she saw Hawke's hurt and downright offended expression.

"Oh, so I spoiled it?" the pirate heard sardonic bitterness in her own voice, but couldn't help herself "Because friends don't fuck?"

"No, because friends might fuck each other, but they don't fuck _with _each other," Hawke stepped up and pointed her finger at the rogue "I know you, Isabela. I know it takes you from three seconds to five minutes tops to decide whether you want to sleep with someone or not, and you're suddenly interested after three years? What changed about me that made me suddenly attractive for you? Why now?"

"I was going through every house on the way from the Hanged Man to here, so it took a while," the pirate said flatly.

"The first thing you said was that you liked it better when I lived in Lowtown. Then you told me that we're different from people in Hightown. And actually, the only thing that changed about me lately is where I live now."

"Yeah, you caught me. I was going to golddig a new ship out of you."

"No, I think you tried to… what, make sure that I won't trade you for some noble snoots? Really? What did I do to make you think so poorly about me? We fought side by side for years. I've never pried into your past if you didn't want to talk about it. Even when you gave me bags of bullshit, like with that relic you lost and supposedly don't know what it is, or with your ship-wreck, or why you make up stupid excuses for never entering the qunari compound, - I've never dwelled on that, though I fully realize it's gonna bite me in the ass one day. I put up with all of that, but now you think I need a throwaway fuck to keep my loyalty going? That's what you want to make a basis for our friendship?"

_You righteous golden fool._

"No, because it's impossible to buy you, right? And your friendship is priceless, because it doesn't depend on anyone's judgement, but yours. And you have luxury of choosing what you want to get from different people - friendship, sex, love or everything at once. Probably because your mother didn't sell you for few coins and a goat." Hawke stumbled at this, her eyes widening, but Isabela couldn't stop herself just yet. "And in your perfect world, where everyone has privilege of being _whole_, you can judge people for not meeting your standards of self-worth. And it never occurred to you, that maybe I know myself better and I know that it'd be better for _you _this way_, _because being loyal to me never brought anyone any good!"

_Aw, fuck it. _

The rogue turned on her heels abruptly and strode to the exit.

"Isabela, wait!"

_Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it with a scorching fork…_

"Just remember, that when one day you'll put someone already once broken under the pressure and they break again, it's partly your fault too!"

Isabela finally slipped into the darkness behind mansion's doorstep and welcoming shadows hid her dependably, like they always did.

"Isabela! Dammit, get back!"

Hawke's silhouette stood in the doorframe, illuminated by warm orange light of her house light. Isabela turned and walked away without looking back anymore.

* * *

><p><em>I don't know how much longer I'll manage to carry it, but probably I'll get to next chapter, because it's gonna have a demon OC I'm kinda interested in writing (because let's face it, canon demons in Dragon Age are amateurs) <em>


	13. I thought my demons were my friends

_I'm coming undone_

_Too late_

_I'm coming undone_

_What looks so strong_

_So delicate_

Giant spiders is one of the main reasons I'm not religious. Because even if Maker does exist, I refuse to worship the bastard who created those things.

One of them was cornering me right now, if you can apply this word to a cave without anything actually resembling corners. But there were piles of rocks on my right, on my left and directly behind my back, and right in front of me there were swinging jointed legs with disgusting drooling jaws glimpsing from time to time. I took a step back and threw the lightning in the middle of this mess. It seemed to only make the situation worse - the spider made a screeching sound and started swinging it's clawed legs even more furiously, gross hair that partly covered it's body stood up and now it smelled of burned flesh. Then it reared up - a sign that it's going to throw a web.

_Oh damn, no!_

"Just die already!" I screamed, closed my eyes - because getting this sticky shit in your eyes is _the worst, - _and drew Сone of Cold in front of me. When I opened my eyes, there was, as expected, a big pile of ice, but for some reason it was illuminated from the inside, bright blue light scattering from many edges of icy crystals.

_What the… oh wait, no…_

I squinted, trying to see past the shining. Big dark mass of the the spider was caught in the strange pose - it's halves seemed to be moving in different directions. The light was beaming from behind it.

_Oh shit no…_

I circled the pile of ice and saw a lanky figure glowing with an irritated pulsing blue light, like a particularly angry lighthouse, which instead of being a beacon of hope chose to let the ships know that they should keep the fuck away from here.

_Okay, the spell is going to last for maybe another couple of minutes, so if I run right now and take all horses with me, I have a chance of out-speeding him, and if I'm lucky, there would be some ship leaving Kirkwall's Docks right now... _

"Fenris, I'm sorry!" I cried out. "Hold on, I'll get you out of here!"

There was a strikingly blinding flash of light.

So, there's actually different things I could do, not counting running quickest way was to shatter the ice with force spells, but there were certain risks. There's just not enough wine and apple pies in this world to bribe him if I break off his ear. So it's better to melt the ice gradually.

I pressed my hands against the ice's surface and sent a wave of heat through it. It started to sag, with streams of water running down and baring Fenris' left feet. It scraped the ground abruptly and glared at me with three glowing lyrium dots. I've never thought it's possible to glare with your feet, especially as pretty and dainty-shaped as his is, but apparently you can't put anything past this guy in a matter of scowling.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to happen," I said apologetically to this feet and doubled the efforts, scared by the thought of being subsequently judged by all of his limbs.

After few seconds I managed to melt the ice all around him, so we stood in the pool of cold water, him drenched, with his back to me and his sword still stuck in the frozen spider mid-swing. Fenris jerked the sword abruptly and the remaining pile of ice with the spider inside shattered into many small pieces.

"I'm really..." I started and he finally turned to me, still silently, and with wet bangs plastered over his face I could see only viciously luminescent green glimpses of his eyes, but even this was eloquent enough."...sorry. Look, I can fix that!"

So I did what I always do to dry my hair faster - I casted a stream of hot air at him. His hair got blown back and stood up, making a very messy and ruffled halo. Fenris cursed shortly in Arcanum, stepping back and blinking because of the sudden gust of air, and then he finally met my eyes.

"Are you done?!"

"Ouch, I think I overdid it a bit… But you're dry now, right?"

I caught one of his popped bangs with my fingertips and pulled it down carefully, trying to smooth it on his forehead. The moment I let it go, it sprang up again. I patted it down hurriedly, but this seemed useless. Fenris was watching me with a distant look of murderous curiosity, with his sculpted angular face looking like a statue in a fuzzy wig. Maker's breath, his hair were so fluffy that I couldn't even see his ears, only pointy tips were showing from the white cloud. I've never seen anything looking so cute and lethal at the same time.

I chuckled awkwardly, said "Oh, I think Aveline is calling for me!" and ran away.

When we were leaving the caverns after the fight, I could see that Fenris was still bothered by that accident. I guess I can understand why. It's not that it was friendly fire, it happens sometimes with area spells. It's how effectively _my _spell worked on him. He's used to be affected less by magic thanks to the markings, and he is definitely not used to turning into an icy figurine. I never discussed the whole "those markings increase power of mages who wish you well" thing, because, well, at first it was an awkward thing to explain and it just never seemed important in that way. I assumed it won't give me an unfair disadvantage if we ever fight, because I'm obviously not going to be benevolent while throwing fireballs at him. But now apparently I don't need to specifically concentrate on liking him, it's just… there? Still very confusing and obviously not something I can coherently explain to him. And it'll matter just in rare cases like this one, when I can't see that I'm hurting him - and I'm not generally fighting with my eyes shut, so it shouldn't be a problem.

Still, I have to somehow deal with him right now. He was even more tense and jumpy than usually, and he glanced at me from the corner of the eyes warily - and it strangely irked me. I guess lately I got used to him being relaxed and open around me - well, at least much more relaxed than he usually is.

Well, I have to make him feel easier and reassure of my totally good nature. So what do I do?

"So, it seems your hair returned into it's normal limits of unkemptness."

I make awkward sarcastic jabs. No wonder people try to kill me all the time.

"Yes, and it only took a couple of hammer hits to the head."

"I don't know if people know about it in Tevinter, but here we have this secret wonder, it's called helmets."

He pressed up his lips and threw me a smoky side-glare of _Don't tell me what to do and I won't tell you where to go_.

"I don't know why you're so pissed though, open forehead looks amazing on you too."

He blinked, looking a little startled, then frowned and glared at me, but the tips of his ears were red.

"You don't have to say this. I know I'm not... your type."

Um, excuse me, how is _that _your problem here? You should be pissed because "_You're using an obvious fact as a flattery to appease me_", not because "_You're lying and actually don't find me attractive._"

"You're not my type, but it doesn't mean I can't appreciate you looking gorgeous. It means that if there'd be someone else lanky, angularly scrawny and white-haired, I wouldn't be interested."

"What's the difference?"

I shrugged "I got to know you. And you are great."

He looked away, as usually hiding his embarrassed grin, but then he met my eyes, still smiling. It was like suddenly walking into a cloud, but not the real one, which is unpleasantly wet and foggy. No, the clouds on this volcano would sneak up on you out of nowhere and envelope you into a weightless warmth, so all you could do is bask in the soft dispersed sunshine, smiling and not moving, not even breathing to not scare it away.

I held his gaze and his awkward one-sided grin turned a soft smile and suddenly everything around stopped actually mattering.

_Wait, weren't you two arguing now? And why are you standing in the middle of the road?_

Because though we mastered arguing while walking years ago, we can't do the same with smiling. Now shut up and stop interfering.

_I'm your logic and I'm trying to take a grip on situation and you…_

I get smiles like this from him once a month at best, so just shut up and let me enjoy it.

_Nah, wait, I think it was him who was pissed at you, so keep smiling._

Maker's breath, it's a good fucking thing he scowls when we're actually arguing, with that mind-wiping effect of his smiles I could start agreeing without thinking.

Finally he coughed and tried to look serious.

"Anyway, I'd greatly appreciated if you kept your eyes open in a fight."

"Aw, come on, it's not fair, I don't screw up like this usually. The bastard was about to throw that gross sticky web at me, you know how it itches when you get it in your eyes!"

"I don't know if people in Fereldan are aware of that, but in Tevinter we have this amazing technique, it's called "dodging"..."

"I was cornered!"

"...and another protective tactic involving your head, we call it "thinking ahead so you don't get cornered".

I laughed despite myself and nudged him, though without any force applied, because recently he stopped dodging me and was just letting me hit. Not yet a playful interaction it was intended to be, but at least he seems to believe I don't want to hurt him, and it's a progress. Only took three years, wow.

"Hey, but I can't actually believe you don't know that you're gorgeous as fuck. I mean, come on, on an average day there are about five indecent propositions and at least one broken neck for every ten minutes you walk around a town."

He shrugged uneasily, not looking at me.

"Knowing you're viewed as…physically attractive is not the same thing. Mostly it's superficial evaluating opinion that might bring unwanted invasive advances."

Oh… That's why he doesn't as much as blink at the dirtiest innuendos and at the same time can blush at the most innocent stupid compliments.

He saw me frowning and shrugged again, waving his hand dismissively.

"I'm generally not bothered by it now that I'm able to stand up for myself."

I bit my lip. I've never considered it that way. Even having to hide my magic, I always knew I can protect myself at least with "accidentally" fallen chandelier. And he was always so proud and prickly, so I just never gave any thoughts to the idea that there were times when he couldn't even show his displeasure at anything.

I took a deep breath and glanced away, because I knew he's gonna read my look as pity.

"Did you… Have I ever... "

"No, I've never felt like an object around you," he said quietly and I believed him, because the uneasiness faded from his eyes, "as a very aggravating person, maybe, but a person nonetheless."

I stuck my tongue at him and we smirked at each other, and then he arched his eyebrows a little and made those "shy tortured puppy eyes with just a hint of hope at something", and it's really just maddening.

_Maker's breath, what do you want me to do? Kiss you, give you a puppy, kill someone? I can't read minds! Ugh, I should get Merrill here to help me with blood magic!_

Okay, hush, let's think logically and look for other hints. So, is there anything? I think yeah, his arm is a little trust out and fixated in a bit tense, uncomfortable position, with hand opened flat. Oh, is that it? Yeah, I think it's the same look he was throwing at me that evening in the Hanged Man before finally covering my hand with his own.

I slowly moved my hand, pressed my palm against his and saw him grinning without looking at me. With claws of his gauntlet, it's impossible to actually interlace our fingers, so we had to keep our hands exactly aligned with each other. You had to dynamically adjust to this fragile balance of sharp spikes and barren vulnerability of the scarred skin, moody defensive temper and elusive sunlit smiles.

"How about I'll get you an apple pie as an apology?"

"I don't think it'd be sufficient. Maybe with a complimentary back-rub."

_Awwww yes!_

* * *

><p>Sounds of the chant were flowing through the Hightown - it was time of the evening service in the Chantry. Fenris stood, leaning against the window frame, and breathed in the fresh air. Old sacks with tea were torn by mice and draughts scattered tea leaves all over the mansion. Their deep herbal smell now mixed with flair of chantry's incense and salty notes of winds from the Docks.<p>

It smelled like Seheron - tea, incense and the sea.

In the books that he had read, narrators in times of distress were remembering places and times where they were happy, to escape and ease their present suffering. Fenris never had a mental space like this when he was a slave. His greatest luxury in the rare moments when he was left alone was to stop being himself, just sink into the thoughtless empty void, where he didn't have to be what others demanded from him - a weapon, pet or toy.

That's why he reached for religion, even if half-heartedly, - there must be something worse than what he went through. There must be torment more terrible, abyss deeper than his own void, there must be some sense, some purpose in everything. And there must be something better, too. The absence of pain cannot be the same as happiness, because otherwise why even bother with surviving through all of this?

And now he felt that strange heartache for Seheron, his twice lost supposed homeland, not because he was happy there - but there he became alive again. And if there is someone in this world who ever loved him, who maybe still thinks of him sometimes, then where it could be if not in the place where he was born?

He sighed deeply. Seheron was lost for him now. He couldn't return, not after what happened with the Fog Warriors. He had to move forward. If he only knew how...

With Danarius he was an empty shell on a leash with a heavy iron collar, with nothing to lose and nothing to gain. So when he ran away, tearing the leash, it broke his spine and anger was his only crutch to keep himself standing. He didn't have anything but the ruins of his own cage, so he built himself around them and though he couldn't take a deep breath because of the iron bars in his chest, they kept him from falling apart.

His tie to Hawke felt so differently - not a leash, but hundreds of thin strings, hooked into him. Taken separately, each of them seemed insignificant and harmless, but they went deep into him and were so numerous. And there was something that he never knew before - an urge to share. He caught himself wishing she was there to see something, guessing her reactions, wanting to tell her his thoughts and hear her response. He thought of her seeing jewelry with birds, when he caught scornful glances of nobles in Hightown he secretly wanted to have her reassuring confidence by his side, even dancing flames in the fireplace reminded of her in long lonesome evenings.

Worse of all was that he wanted her - needed her - and he didn't even know why she was with him. Hawke, who could choose someone with status, wealth and education, someone who's easy to be around and without burdening past, Hawke, who was impatient and direct, wasting her time on merely holding hands?

Was that the pity? Was that the childish curiosity to see the interesting bug pinned on the table and dissected? Or challenge of taming the wild nervous beast? Savior's desire to fix him? Adventurous conquest to get an exotic trophy and unique experience to tell stories about? Explorer's search for a solution of a difficult puzzle?

And as much as he craved closeness, he feared it. What will a woman who resents the very concept of cages think of someone who needs iron bars in his chest to not fall to pieces?

He felt helpless and inadequate. He caught himself trying to read her expectations and hated himself for that - it was a mentality of a slave, always trying to guess how to please the master. Because he knew that if he'd run away now, those countless ties would torn him into pieces and she wouldn't be really bothered apart from trouble of finding a new fighter. And the worst thing was that deep down he was afraid - afraid that if Hawke will eventually give him those conditions to fit in, he'd do that, play the given role for acceptance without even realizing it. He was desperately tired of helplessness, of waiting for the catastrophe of one kind or another to happen and knowing he could do nothing to prevent it.

He was forged for survival, but now he wanted to _live _and it was killing him.

* * *

><p>Funny thing about the Fade is that while it's supposedly the world of dreams where everything is possible, on practice it's just boring badly copied pieces of the real world with sickly blurry greenish-yellow tint. I suppose it says things about limits of imagination of demons or maybe the Maker himself.<p>

Also it was supposed to provide cathartic tests for your spirit and wit. So far it provided barrel puzzles, which weren't very spiritual. Not that I minded puzzles, after completing them there was a certain boost of abilities, but what supposed metaphorical meaning could lining up red barrels possibly contain?

I sighed, staring at the damn barrels. I solved the previous puzzle with big and small barrels, but couldn't make sense of this one yet. Meanwhile, everyone else was busy staring too, but not at anything productive. Aveline stared at me with demanding impatience, not realizing that years of withstanding Fenris' glare left me immune to this Fenris was routinely fidgeting and checking if anyone'd sneak up behind his elbows. The rest of the time he spent suspiciously eyeing Anders, who, unlike always, took no notice of that. He - or should I say Justice? - glared righteously into the distance, which I found astonishing considering that we were standing in a small room.

"Hawke, stop wasting time!" Aveline finally realized that just piercing angry gaze won't affect me and exploded "This place is dangerous as it is!"

"Time has a different meaning in the Fade, Aveline," I said serenely, "didn't you notice that you could dream of years going by in mere hours of real time?"

"You already spent half-an-hour chasing a stupid flying book!"

"Ugh, please, it was ten minutes tops and everyone was very entertained with watching me trip around those damn columns, so don't try complaining now!"

"We really should move on," Fenris said tensely. "This place is dangerous, and we should reduce our time here as much as possible."

"Technically, you get here every time you dream," I retorted. "Does it mean you also try to sleep as less as possible to avoid it?"

And then for a second there was strange haunted look in his eyes, before he stepped back and looked away, and for some reason it made me feel guilty. But what did I do, invented Fade?

_Nah, he's just having one of his moody strikes._

"Hey, Anders… I mean, Justice!" I said cheerfully, turning to the glowing apostate. He kinda gave me creeps, so I wanted to chat him up. I mean, he couldn't be all that bad, right? "A question for you as an expert. What are those barrels supposed to represent? I mean, I get the flying book one - it's about chasing the knowledge or something, but lining up red barrels? What does it symbolize?"

He turned to me, expressionless and creepily glowing. Fenris radiated the same chilly shade of lyrium azure, but at least you could clearly see that it's coming from the markings. With Anders, the glow was sort of leaking through the cracks in his skin. It looked like there's just a shell with a human body covering the eerie ball of light, and that this human-looking surface could fall to pieces.

"It is irrelevant."

"O-okay then..." I drawled, trying to force a smile. Jeez, this guy is so much of no fun that even making fun of him is no fun!

"It is done."

I turned around and blinked at Fenris in confusion. He pointed with an abrupt jerking of his hand at the barrels, red ones grouped neatly in the center now of the others. "Are you satisfied now?"

"Hey, but you did it all by yourself! The fun part was figuring it out!"

"Can we move on already?" there was a strain in his voice and I sighed, leaving the room.

"Fine, fine! Be a killjoy, as always!"

We stepped into the courtyard and suddenly everything around faded - well, more than it was already, to the state of me standing alone in a small piece of land with blurry surroundings. I whipped out my staff and glanced around, preparing to throw fireball at the first signs of motion.

"Greetings, mortal," said pleasant low voice.

"Is this a proper way to greet your guest?" I shouted back cheekily. "You have to meet people face to face!"

"I'm afraid I can't do it right now."

"And why is that?"

"Because you'd try to kill me," he answered in the same pleasant tone and I laughed.

"Well yeah, but it never seemed to bother any of your other demon pals."

"I am not a practitioner of the standard methods. I'd prefer to actually talk with you first."

"Oh, let me spare you the trouble, I know the drill already. I don't want to master the immense power of blood magic, I don't need sacred knowledge, I don't want to revive any dead relatives, I don't intend to conquer the world or get a fortune, I don't want to prove my worth and get back at people who ever offended me, and I'm capable of getting people to like me without brainwashing them. So, can we skip to the part where I kill you?"

"How about understanding what the fuck are you actually doing?"

Despite myself, I was a bit startled.

"Not selling my soul to a demon, what's not to understand about that?"

"What's you doing with your life, not what you're doing in a moment. That's one of your biggest shortcomings, by the way - you only see a current situation. No strategical planning, not even one long-term goal."

It all started to get on my nerves.

"Yeah, I bet you certainly have a clear strategic goal of possessing me!"

"Perish the thought. I wouldn't merge with a mortal even if they offered me power as extensive as the one that the boy in whose mind we are now has."

"Oh really, I'm sure convinced."

"I told you, I do not fall under the foolish obsessions other demons follow. I, unlike the tiresome little spirit you keep in your company, realize that you can't merge with a human soul without it affecting you in return. I don't want to be changed by human. We are creatures of different worlds and the mix of those is always dysfunctional, like would an offspring of a bird and a fish be. Also, there's this rather disgusting matter of body maintenance. Do I need a package of parental issues, sexual frustration, inferiority complex, the load of instincts and reflexes and the need to stuff myself with substance, then excrete it's wastes and also lie unconscious and helpless for several hours a day? And then aging and inevitable death? No, thanks."

"Err," I said, confused and a bit offended for my world. "It's not all like that! There are good things too!"

_Wait, are you trying to convince a demon that possessing human is a great thing to do?_

"Oh, I'm sorry, I did not mean it as an insult. I merely explained why I'm not drawn to that perspective. No offense meant to you, after all, you didn't choose to be born mortal. Actually, I admire how good you're handling your species pitiful existence. You even manage to optimistically enjoy it, unlike most of the mortals. And you are also efficient despite your baggage of human issues. That's why I chose you."

"Chose me to do what?"

"To be my agent in the world of mortals. Working together will bring benefits to both of us. More benefits to you, actually. Because first I'll help you to become way more efficient. I'll teach you to always get from people what you want."

"Oh let me guess, with blood magic?"

"On the contrary, I'd prefer if you'd kept away from blood magic. Why do you think I had to find you in these outskirts of civilization? It'd be much easier to deal with a Tevinter mage, they practically hand out their resume to our kind."

"You expect me to believe that a demon is against blood magic? It's like a dwarf who doesn't like gold!"

"Oh, make no mistake - I'm not against it, I'm against using it for solving every problem. Like all magic, blood magic is a tool, and like every tool it must be used for a certain range of purposes. Tevinter mages rely on it too much, using it for everything without even considering other options. With all their pride in their own deviousness, they are too blunt and limited. Wise person knows to not use a war-hammer to shape a crown. That's why I chose you. You're imaginative and you manage to be deal with people without forcefully brainwashing them. You just need to be taught… finesse."

"For what? To un-forcefully brainwash people? I'm not gonna be a manipulator!"

"Ah, but you already are one. Every mage is. What is your magic if not a manipulation of elements? What is your healing if not a manipulation of patient's body?"

"That's different!" I shouted indignantly. "It's manipulation of matter, it's just physical. You're talking about affecting minds!"

"I have to repeat myself, but you're already doing it. Like it or not, but your presence is very influential by itself. Right now you just don't understand how you're affecting people and where it will lead. You're like a blind bull in a glass workshop - you don't even notice if something is shattered."

"Oh, bullshit! Whom did I shatter?"

"Well, I'm not going to bring up your brother - that's a topic for hours long discussion. Let's talk about something small and immediate, what happened mere minutes ago. You knew that your followers are uncomfortable in this world, yet you still chose to take time to solve my puzzles. You were even explicitly asked to not do so, yet you ignored it and indulged your own curiosity."

"Maker's breath, don't try to make a big deal out of it! These few minutes didn't matter."

"Didn't matter for whom? For your quest - well, probably yes. For the comfort of your companions - it did. You even managed to poke your elf into one of his sour spots. Which isn't bad in itself, since it prompted him to solve your problem."

"What? He's always like that! And he could just tell me if he was so bothered by it!"

"He told you. He asked you to proceed and you mocked him."

"Oh, come on, he mumbles "we should move on" to me all the time anyway!"

It strangely irked me though, because in the last couple of years, sometimes when he meets my eyes, he smiles briefly and says "Yes, my friend?" and in those moments I know he feels secure.

"Of course, because he has too many sour spots. Sure, you're not going to be considerate of that - it'd take too much effort and sacrificing your own interests."

"Shut up, it's not like that! After all, he would say something more insistent if it was really that bad."

"Of course he wouldn't. The life of slave taught him that the world doesn't care about his personal well-being. The only way he knows how to get anything for himself is to be useful for his master."

I was almost breathless from rage for a moment.

"Fuck you! How _dare _you to compare me with that slaver pig!"

"I don't compare you, I compare the narratives. You kicked his insecurities, and because he's so afraid of looking weak or annoying to you, he solved your problem for you."

"Bullshit, I didn't mean to manipulate him this way!"

"I have news for you since you as a mage could be confused - intent is not magic. It's small things like this that make a difference, you see, and your actions have consequences whether you planned them or not. And you may not realize it yourself, but you wanted to make him stop pestering you and you accomplished it. So it's not like you're not manipulating people right now, it's just you're doing it blindly, and those, much less effectively and with unnecessary accidental damage."

I grasped for arguments to shut him down, but could found nothing in my anger.

"You mortals are funny creatures. You're are capable of doing just about anything that you consider wrong as long as you convince yourself that you're actually doing something completely different. I merely advise you to start being honest with yourself."

I threw a fireball in the darkness ahead of me, but the demon continued calmly.

"Today you'll get two knives in your back. Only two, because the third one was set in motion years ago and will take time to complete it's path. But it will be there, eventually. I offer you chance to prevent those betrayals."

"Firstly, if you think that I'll let a demon to convince me that my friends are gonna betray me, you're not half as smart as you're selling yourself. Secondly, let me guess, for preventing those hypothetical betrayals you'll want me to give you this boy's soul?"

"Absolutely not. I'd ask you to kill him."

"What?"

"I told you already, I wouldn't want to merge with a mortal even if _I_ got paid for that. So think for a moment and you'll see that the death is the most preferable option for the dreamer. He has only two paths - if he can't control his powers, he'll be possessed by some demon with much less finesse than me. I wouldn't want a maniac of that power ravaging my realm and I think you feel the same. The only really available opportunity for him to learn how to control his magic is in Tevinter. So would you want to see a magister who's capable of controlling people not only by the power of blood, but by the power of dreams as well?"

"I..."

_I didn't think of that…_

"Well, if you wish to be stubborn for the sole purpose of stubbornness, let it be the lesson to you. I believe there's no danger of you actually dying from this mistake for now. But when you'll get to the boy, after you see that I was right about your followers, think again. Try to cleanse your judgement from the prejudice against my kind and you'll see that I'm right again."

His laughter was a rustle of gravel sliding down the mountain side.

"You think you're better than me because you "mean good", but results of well-intended blindness are often worse than any evil plan. You shine bright, little bird, but your own light blinds you and you can't see how you burn those who try to get closer to your fire. Worse yet, you're proud of your blindness. You think that one moment, one fight, one quest can truly save people who asked for your help, so afterwards you leave them to their fate, satisfied with yourself. Well, fly away, blind hawk, fly into the trap you've brought on yourself."

There was a flash of light - the bastard really likes forcing metaphors, doesn't he, - and I was in the courtyard again. Nobody seemed to notice my absence - demon must've played tricks with time. Aveline was saying something about local Templars not being friendly enough with the guards. Fenris glanced questioningly at the staff in my hand, but I shrugged and walked to the stairs.

What unsettled me the most, was the lack of malice in demon's tone. He sounded condenscending, a bit disappointed and entirely too confident.

* * *

><p>They walked through the door and were washed over by a wave of light. Fenris blinked and when he opened his eyes, he was invisible. All that was left of their group was an elderly elf with slick silver hair, in mage robes.<p>

"Whoa whoa! I'm an old dude!" gasped the mage, and if there were any doubts that it's Hawke, they vanished. She clasped her ears and exclaimed "And an elf!"

"My people, I present to you... our hope," said the voice of the Dalish Keeper that sent them here.

There was a group of elves ahead, standing in circle around the young boy they came to save. Near him stood the Keeper, apparently making a speech. A demon, obviously.

"His features may mark him as human, but in his heart beats the blood of the Dales!"

"Whoa whoa whoa! Look at these sweet ass robes I'm wearing!" Hawke was looking down at herself. "So sexy and stylish I'm gonna cry! And it's grey, red and gold, my favorites!"

Fenris felt a pang of irritation. Of course it'd be her who kept the ability to act and of course even in this perilious realm, everything was a joke to her.

"He is now a prisoner of the Circle, but through us, he shall find freedom!" the Keeper stoically ignored Hawke, probably hoping to convince the boy before the mage will manage to get over her clothes.

"I... I don't know what to say..." Feynriel mumbled, looking lost and flushed. It was going to go badly if Hawke doesn't interfere. Meanwhile, in her journey of self-discovery, she found the staff.

"Fuck me sideways! What a beauty! Three ebony dragon heads with glowing eyes! Suck it, Flemeth, this thing is cooler than just to turn into a dragon!"

Fenris growled, but there was no sound, so he nudged her at the shoulder.

"What? oh yeah, right. Listen up, kid. Your power could restore the elves to their former glory. It's time we take mage fashion back from dirty demon-worshipping Tevinters!"

Feynriel looked up at her.

"First Enchanter? You're not going to tell me my magic makes me dangerous?"

"He is First Enchanter, child, but also, an elf," The Keeper said smoothly. "You have a gift we feared lost. As a dreamer, you can tap the power of the Fade and the spirits within, as we all once did."

"Maker's butt-itch, First Enchanter? You've gotta be a fucking First Enchanter to get a decent robes around here?" Hawke swayed and shook her head - Fenris guessed now it was Aveline who nudged her. "Err, yeah. You will change the course of history, Feynriel. Listen to me, I will lead to you to the path of sexiness."

"N-no, all my nightmares do is wake me up screaming. What power is that?" the boy was conflicted.

"A dreamer's mind shapes the Fade. Open yourself to the spirits and you can bring that control to the mortal realm." the demon said soothingly, but it was too late.

"Spirits? You mean demons!" the boy stumbled back, his wide eyes searching around. "This is what the Circle warns of... the temptation."

"You're not the Keeper!" he screamed at the demon. "Mother's people have no Circle, but they don't consort with demons."

Feynriel turned and run away, vanishing from the sight.

"I wish..." Hawke muttered, folding her hands.

"You! Why did you interfere?" the Keeper turned to Hawke, and after a flash of light they all were visible again and there was a huge black demon in front of them.

"Sorry, chap, couldn't wait for my turn. I'm giving you a soul of my horse and two newborn puppies that my dog fathered this month for those robes and staff. They don't even have to be enchanted, just keep the style."

"With my power joined to his, Feynriel would have change the world!" the demon roared, ignoring her blabbering.

"Yeah, I'm sure he'd be a very influential puppet," Hawke uttered testily, again in her own form. "There is can be no honest deal with a demon."

"No? You think I will lie then when I offer your friends what Feynriel turned down?"

"Um, how is that a trick question? Obviously, yeah!"

"You think that slave would choose you over his freedom?"

Fenris blinked, not expecting this at all.

"Cast your eyes elsewhere, demon. I won my freedom from the magisters long ago."

"But you fear them still. They have left their marks on your body and your mind."

Darkness fell. There was a sickening smell of burning flesh and his body was torn apart with blazing pain. The scream of animal agony ringed in his ears and lazy voice said "Plug his mouth. As good as those wailings are for my reputation, if we don't stop it, he'll bite his tongue off soon." Something that tasted of dirty leather was shoved in his mouth and the howling stopped, but the pain only seemed to get worse.

_No no no, anything but this..._

"With my aid, you could be free forever. You could have power enough to challenge any who would chain you."

...The leash tugged him down and he kneeled, locking his eyes on the marble floor. Weak wrinkled fingers caught his chin, but as always, Fenris stopped himself from flinching and didn't look up. The hand moved up his jawline to lazily stroke behind his ear, and his skin crawled. "So, will you give up or shall I send my little pet to fetch me your heart?.."

_No no no, not again..._

"How transparent can you get?" Hawke's taunting voice sounded dull, as if coming from far away.

...The air reeked of fire and blood. Danarius stood in front of him and bodies of dead rebels lied all around them. Ash and blood stained his face, blood streamed down Fenris's sword - their blood, blood of people who helped him and tried to protect. And there was nothing he could do. "Good, my little wolf, good..."

_Not again, I can't go through this again..._

"But... to face him as an equal? I..."

He'll lose everything... But he'll lose everything anyway when Danarius finds him, and he'll be helpless and he'll have to live through all of this again...

"What... what would you want from me?" he heard his own stumbling hoarse voice like it was a stranger speaking.

"A moment of your time, nothing more."

It's not a soul, it's not forever, it'll be over soon and then he'd never have to be afraid again...

It took over him in the next second. He felt his body moving, there was a sword in his hand and it started a low swing. And then Hawke turned to him, her amber eyes widened in shock, and he waited for a spell, for an ice wave to freeze him in place, but there was nothing. For one never-ending moment she was confused, and he realized that his strike was going to hit her. He tried to scream and pull back, but his body wasn't controlled by him - he could just watch as his sword cuts her side, she stumbles back and blood rushes from the wound, and his hands are already moving for another blow...

Aveline rammed her shield into him, throwing him away from the mage. When he gained his balance back and looked up, Hawke's eyes were wild yellow. Next blissful moment the fire finally consumed him.

He woke up, sweating, on the bench in that little Alienage house. Feynriel's mother gasped and jumped to her feet.

"What happened? How's Feynriel?.."

"No, it will be fine," he said, avoiding her worried gaze. "Hawke's progressing. She'll save your son."

Keeper watched him with sad knowing eyes, but said nothing. He took a deep breath and run his fingers through his hair. He wanted to run away, flee the city, get drunk and never sleep again. But he had to stay. He had to face her when she wakes up.

Aveline bolted up few minutes later, breething frantically.

"Wesley! Wesley!" she called, but then met his eyes and her gaze focused. "I need some air," she groaned and walked out of the house. She returned after some time and then Anders awakened.

"You?.." Aveline raised her eyebrows and the mage protested indignitally, waving his hands

"What? No! Of course I wouldn't fall for a demon's ploy, I'm not a fool. No, we've defeated all demons and found the boy."

"What's wrong then? Where are Feynriel and Hawke?"

"He's... alright. As okay as he can be in this situation. For some reason, Hawke asked me to leave them alone. She said she wants to talk with him privately. So don't worry, it should be over soon."

It was. After few minutes Hawke opened her eyes, got licked over by her mabari and finally stood up.

"Feynriel's fine. He had to leave now, but he'll be in touch. I'll visit you later to tell more. Now excuse me, I'm not feeling very well. See you next time Merrill will try to get possessed by a mirror, Keeper."

She stormed out of the house and they followed her. In the street, Aveline tried to advance to her and start talking, but Hawke turned furiously on her heels, throwing up her hands.

"Don't even try to come near me, any of you!"

"Well, I find that there's nothing like being possessed to keep you on the straight-and-narrow," Anders said cheerfully, obviously proud of himself, but Hawke snapped "Not now, Anders," and turned to Aveline and the elf. He forced himself to meet her eyes, still searing yellow.

"I counted on you! If I'd taken Merrill to the Fade then well, shame on me, but you people always go on about vigilance and resisting magic and honor... Duh!"

She turned and walked away, fast and leaving burning sparks in her wake.

Fenris and Aveline exchanged glances. Hawke is too proud and stubborn. Will her principles bear to forgive a betrayal?

_That's right_

_Trigger between my eyes_

_Please strike_

_Make it quick now_


	14. Somebody hears you you know that

_A/N: I usually can't compliment bioware on subtlety, but I do like how quests of all companions after betrayal basically called "NPC's Apology", but for Fenris it's "Fenris's Night Terrors". _

* * *

><p><em>Somebody hears you. you know that inside.<em>

_Someone is learning the colors of all your moods, to_

_(say just the right thing and) show that you're understood._

There are three types of people trying to do business in the early morning. Sebastian's type - cheerful and enthusiastic morning bird, who had the long night rest and is ready to brighten everyone's day. Isabela's type - who didn't sleep at all and now were in a hazely good-humoured indifference, trying to find something entertaining enough to stay awake. And Hawke's type - night owls, who got a little sleep, but not nearly enough, and now were spending all of their willpower on keeping themselves from strangling the shiny morning birds.

The mage perched herself on top of the stone Hightown fence, balancing herself with one feet - Isabela suspected only to keep herself from falling asleep. Usually at that time she'd be exchanging sarcastic jabs with Fenris, but right now she was cherishing her offence. It was almost weird to not have the elf around when they went on quests. He became nearly irreplaceable in their group after Carver left. It made sense - Hawke was used to work with two-handed fighting style because of her brother and Fenris was specifically trained to be a mage's bodyguard. In the last three years they became practically synchronized in battle, which was nice except for the occasions like this one, because now there was a glaring hole in their defense.

"Where's Merrill?" the mage muttered with irritation."She was supposed to be here half-an-hour ago."

"So," Isabela said nonchalantly, leaning against the fence at Hawke's side, "how long are you planning on holding on that precious grudge of yours?"

"Izzy, it isn't a grudge," the mage said testily, even managing to fully open her sleepy eyes for a moment. "It was a betrayal! They tried to kill me!"

"In a dream. So you'd, oh, I don't know, tragically and unreservedly woke up."

"So we'd got a mage of rare devastating power possessed by demons and undoubtedly on a killing spree! Besides, betrayal is a betrayal. And how can I trust someone, who succumbed to a demon's offer once?"

"And how are trusting Merrill then? You're taking her along."

"I don't," she said curtly. "But she never made a secret of her alignment, and I see her as too well-meaning and harmless for now to kill."

"Everyone has their weakness," Isabela said softly.

"I was telling demons to fuck off not just once, but for years. I know that it_ is_ possible to resist, and, oh believe me, I wanted to have what I was offered more than to keep my life."

"Not everyone has your wings and your fire, Hawke."

The mage puffed and looked away.

_You little golden fool._

"Anyway, wasn't trying to get you off your high horse or anything, but from purely practical standpoint, not having a single fighter in a group sucks. Let me tell you, a prospect of being the only one who fights in close combat doesn't excite me. I prefer to have at least one very noticeable stick in the mud that all enemies surround, so I can have an easy go on their backs. And it's in your dire interest too, since right now there won't be anyone capable of distracting people pissed off at your fireballs."

Aside from this, the pirate wouldn't mind that much a little break of having the mage and Fenris in the same company since their attraction turned from entertaining self-denying tension into irritating courting rituals of five-year olds. The other day they were walking side by side and Hawke kept trying to kick the elf, until she slipped in the dirt and he caught her arm to keep her from falling. Then he grinned and bowed a little, and she blushed and tried to kick him again so awkwardly, that Varric and Isabela had to roll their eyes at each other.

"We'll manage," Hawke said stubbornly.

"Certainly we will! It's only a question of how many broken bones that were supposed to be given to your 'betrayers' you'll get instead."

The mage shrugged with her chin proudly high, but suddenly Sebastian blunged into conversation.

"It's natural that you were disturbed by that event. Fade was not meant for mortals to enter and the results of the recent affair had proven it again. But perhaps if you'd care to give it a chance, you could find out that all questions that gnaw on you are already answered in the Chant."

Hawke turned her head to him and pointedly slowly sized him up.

"My father always said - religion is like sex: don't discuss it with people unless you're planning to practice it together. You're not going to like my opinion, princeling, so let's not dwell on that."

Isabela huffed. The Chantry boy tried to talk with Hawke about faith for a long time now, but she always evaded it with perfect politeness. But she was too unsettled right now, so it might work for him.

"It's understandable that you're resentful toward the Chantry because of your… troubles with the Templar Order, but..."

Hawke chuckled with grim amusement.

"Troubles? I wouldn't call the life-long hunt a "trouble."

Sebastian opened his mouth to answer, obviously having prepared a rebuff to this beforehand, but Hawke went on.

"But do I hate Templars? Of course I don't. Why would I hate those brainwashed boys? There's this one nice well-meaning guy - his name is Cullen, I believe, - who told me that 'mages are not people like you and me.' Do you see that it's not just dehumanizing us, but also missing the entire point of supervising a mage - that mages are weak _because _we're people just like everyone else? On which soil did that bullshit grow? The Chantry's teachings, of course. But can I blame the herd when a foundation of their close-mindedness was laid by their shepherd?"

_Wow wow is she going to the heresy territory?_

"What god creates a world, populates it with sentient beings and then just abandons it like a child would leave a sandbox with an unfinished castle - to have spirits forever envy and ache for the world they can't reach? Is it any wonder that demons try to escape that blurry empty hole they were trapped in?"

Sebastian stared at her, momentarily speechless, and Isabela couldn't blame him - excusing demons was the last thing she'd expect from Hawke.

"What creator makes possible a mechanics of blood magic just to shame it after and then throw a hissy fit when a little group of magisters uses it to bang at his door? And better yet, how petty a god should be to condemn the whole world to the Blights because of few rotten slavers who were hated by everyone else anyway? To doom endless innocents to dying or turning into monsters he designed?"

_Her sister_, Isabela realized. For Hawke, blaming mindless darkspawn for her death would be no more satisfying than accusing a tree or a rock.

"And then leave his children to suffer and promise to return only if all of us scream his Chant for him loudly enough, like an offended child?"

The mage jumped up to her feet, that rare regal look of icy superiority arising in her.

"In the end, your Maker is either unable to control his own world, and then I don't see point in praying to him, or he's a petty jerk, and then I'd prefer being damned for the eternity than worshipping that bastard."

Hawke turned on her heels and walked away, her gaze so white-hot with fury that you couldn't guess was it a striking ice or a burning heat. The prince followed her with astonished look, as if unable to decide whether he wants to burn her at the stake or make her his queen.

_She's the one who could lead people, form a cult or start a rebellion. We're lucky she's mostly interested in saving kittens and playing pranks._

Isabela caught up with an angrily marching apostate, smirking.

"You'll be a kickass Pride demon, girl."

"And you'd be top class Desire one," Hawke grinned back, loosing the inner illuminance of cold nobility.

"Well, work on that gait a little and you can join me."

The mage laughed and, after a pause, Isabela said softly.

"Any of us could be on that spot. Heck, you can start being at me or Varric too, since I think we'd both fail you too. Do you really believe that it's fair to give a pass to a girl who's - as much as I love her - openly deals with demons and a guy who's so unsure of himself he wouldn't even try to resist, but be mad at people who were scared to follow you, but did it nonetheless?"

Hawke sighed.

"Let's meet Merrill and tell her she won't be needed, and then I'll go talk with Aveline."

"Well, it makes sense to choose the more masculine one of the warriors. But don't worry, we don't have to meet Merrill."

Hawke stared at her with that blank round stare that you could catch very rarely on her and that made her eyes look like gold coins.

"I have a hunch she isn't coming."

It took the mage another second and then she huffed, pointing her finger at the rogue.

"You knew you'll convince me so you told Merrill to not show up!"

"Well it's your fault it took you so long to stop being a pissy snob."

* * *

><p>"Erica!" he called, looking down from the window. "Come up here, please."<p>

He sat in his chair and waited, preparing himself for a difficult conversation. After a couple of minutes, she threw the door open - without knocking, as always. She was flushed and breathless from running, her hair ruffled and her clothes were spots of dust, ash and grass all over her, and few feathers stuck in her lousy ponytail.

"Erica, look at herself!"

"Sorry, Dad. I'll wash before Mom sees me."

"The point is in being clean, not hiding from your Mother."

"Well, if I knew you're going to lecture me on my looks, I'd take time to clean myself. I thought it was going to be something important."

"Sit down," Malcolm said with a sigh. His willful daughter nested herself in a chair in front of him, legs tucked in, placing her elbows on her scrapped bony knees.

"This talk is important, so please, be serious. I'm going to tell you about demons."

She leaned forward, her eyes flaring up with excitement. She was the only one of their children who got the amber eye color from him - twins had their mother's shade of blue.

"Some demons are very primitive, such as Rage and Hunger ones. They'll try to straight up fight you. Some are… more sophisticated."

"They'll try to sell you blood magic for your soul!"

"Well yes, but not only this. They can offer great many things and some of them could look harmless. But don't believe it. There is can be no honest deal with a demon."

She nodded solemnly, her lips pressed tight.

"In the Fade, demons can see your weaknesses, your dreams and fears. Different kinds of demons prey on different types of persons."

"Oh, oh, I know, mine is Pride! Because I'm too proud! But I figured it out! I know that even though I'm awesome, I'm not better than others. Because everyone is awesome in their own ways and in the end we all are equal!"

Malcolm shook his head and tried to hide a smile.

"Well, of course you're right and it is an important point to make. But if for once you'd let me finish, I was going to tell you that Pride is not a demon who'll come after you."

"Um, why?"

"Demon's names echo not the most prominent aspect of the people they'll seek, but the most hurt. Repressed, underdeveloped and denied."

"But how..."

"Pride demons offer power to _prove yourself_. Their victims are people who are insecure, hurt or humiliated, who think that they deserve better, but feel themselves unable to achieve their goals."

"Got it. Pride demons are for the weak cowards."

Malcolm closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Erica is bright and quick-witted, but too prone to fast and harsh judgements. It will help her in situations when there's a need for taking an immediate and hard decision, but she'll have to learn to look deeper and re-evaluate her opinions.

"No. And you threw two completely different motivations in one pile. Weak ones will want to hold their power over others, to be feared, to rule. But the ones driven by fear do not essentially wish to hurt others, merely to be protected themselves. This does not necessarily means that they are weak."

"But you said they are helpless and can't do anything by themselves!"

"This is not what I said. I said that they _feel _themselves weak. Even strong and competent people might believe they are helpless, if the world was cruel to them. Can you do much to help yourself when you're ill or badly hurt?"

"But why turn to demons? Why don't they just ask for help? "

"They might be ashamed and they don't want to be seen as weak."

"But there is no shame in asking for help when you need it!"

"Of course not. But sadly, there are too many ill-natured people in the world who will try to use a brief helplessness for their advantage and far less of those who'd actually help."

She frowned and looked down, forced to face the fact that the world doesn't meet her standards of perfection. But she resolved the issue momentarily, looking up and raising her chin.

"I'll always help!"

_Yes, sadly, you will_, Malcolm thought, looking into her determined bright eyes.

It wasn't true that he loved Erica more than the twins. His love for each of his children was so much bigger than he himself that he couldn't even try to measure it. But his eldest required much more active attention. She already possessed charisma of a natural leader - other children flocked around her and followed her in every new village the family settled in. She was stubborn, self-willed, competitive and brash - those features alone would make her life complicated and troubled. But unfortunately, she also inherited his magic - a burden of responsibility that he desperately wished none of his kids had to carry. So now he had to do all he could to teach her, to help her avoid many mistakes and scars that he made.

"Yes, but others might not be aware of it or were burned too often in the past to trust again."

"Why are you telling me this? Do you want to excuse _blood mages_?"

The disgust in her voice almost cheered him up. If anything, at least he was sure she won't take this path.

"I want you to be able to recognize when someone is in danger of a dire mistake and prevent it."

She folded her arms and puffed her lips, looking unconvinced.

"Please, daughter. Even if you don't understand everything that I'm saying now, try to remember it. It might be very important in your future."

She sighed and straightened up, furrowing her brows.

"Desire demons are different. They prey on repressed needs, they offer people something that they were denied for a long time."

"So it's easy, you just need to do everything you want and then they can't do anything!"

"It's not so simple, child. Sometimes we lose something or someone who we cherished without any reason, and it's very painful and unfair. And when you're hurting, you can't think straight, you're just angry and want it back, because you didn't deserve this pain. In this moment of weakness demons might exploit even the strongest people. Or perhaps you'll think that someone is just foolish and doesn't know what's good for them, that you can easily fix it because you're right and mean good."

"I'm totally confused and this all doesn't make any sense," Erica said with her usual straightforwardness and Malcolm smiled.

"It's alright, you will get it when you grow up. Just remember what I said and try to think about it. Now go, clean up before Mother can see you in such an un-noble state."

She beamed and ran away and he sighed.

_My little fire bird, I hope you'll never need all these lectures, but if you ever do, I hope I'll have time to give you enough..._

* * *

><p>I've walked into his mansion in the late evening, when last sunlight was fading over the sea. I never liked this house. Even in the mornings, it reminded me of the lake's bottom - rare sun rays with dust slowly swirling inside, piercing the deep shadows, creating shimmering patterns on decaying faded furniture. In the night, it was even worse - ascending the crumbling stairwell, I felt like moving through cursed ruins, swallowed by time and silence, chilly whispery darkness weighing down on me. And in the end of the way, there was a ghost waiting for me.<p>

Fenris stood very still, straight and somber, wearing plain white shirt instead of his battle tunic. He looked even more otherworldly than usually, with moonlight giving his white hair cold silver gleam and fire behind his back carving dramatic shadows on his already angular features. He met my eyes and stepped forward, swallowing hard.

"I've been thinking about what happened in the Fade."

Up close I could see that the shadows under his eyes weren't just from the light - there were prominent dark circles and skin stretched tiredly.

"That a demon could have played so easily on my fears… disturbs me," his voice faltered and he looked away for a second, but then met my eyes again, his tone determined. "I failed you. I won't let that happen again."

I sighed.

"Remember when we first met and you asked me to help kill your master? You met us outside of this mansion and told me to be cautious. And then you started yelling the moment we entered the door. Frankly, for some time it made me think that you're not the sharpest tool in the shed. That, and the fact it took you so long to recognize I'm a mage. It puzzled me after I got to know you better, because you _are _bright, cautious and observant. And then I realized. You _wanted _him to flee."

Fenris inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening.

"Even with my support, you were afraid to face him. You still are."

He looked down, with a pained crease between knitted eyebrows.

"I saw you stand up against monsters five times bigger than you and charge a dragon who almost killed you, half-unconscious. I know you're not a coward."

He finally looked me in the eyes.

"It's not my life I'm afraid to lose. It's myself," he stumbled, cringing, his voice hoarse. "I can't become this… thing again. I can't bear even memories of what I was."

I couldn't imagine what he must have felt. Losing myself never seemed possible to me, for me dillema formulated in "life or freedom" and the choice here was clear. But still, I tried to understand what he was going through.

"Fenris, it won't happen," I said slowly and firmly, choosing words carefully. "He's just another blood mage slaver that we hunt every other week. He has no power over you. You changed. You should be proud that you climbed out of the pit the life threw you into. He can't break you anymore."

"There's nothing that I'd wanted more than for you to be right," he said quietly, still not looking at me.

"In the Fade, you said you want to face him as an equal," I said softly and he jerked his head away, hiding his eyes under fallen bangs, his lips twisted in shame. "But it's impossible. You'd be too good for this even if you fall."

He looked up abruptly, his eyes conflicted. I gave him a crooked smirk, shrugged and turned to walk away when he said

"I recall you owe me a neck-rub."

He tried to sound humorously, but even his tone was too tense. It had a hidden question - "are we still together?" - I could read it in the strain and concern in his lopsided smirk, eyebrows slightly raised in tentative hope, vulnerability of reaching out in his distraught eyes. He didn't want me to leave him right now, alone and haunted.

Wait, how did you even saw all of this in a single phrase?

'_You'll notice when you feel the same...'_

Nonsense, it's just that he's really expressive and we spent years grimacing at each other.

"Oh well," I said, shrugging and faking a sigh. "Gotta always pay my debts, right?"

Relief washed over his face and for the first time today sun lit up in his eyes, so I couldn't help but smile back.

_Damn, we really need to do something about this disarming effect..._

When he settled down on the bench in front of fireplace, I stood behind him and placed my hands on his shoulders, looking at the fluffy cloud in front of me.

_Aww, to the void with that!_

I rested my chin on top of his head and he froze for a moment, but then loosened up and leaned a little against me. I started to rub his shoulders gently and felt how tense lean strength of his muscles started to relax slowly.

_Okay, it's still not hot steamy action, but we're definitely moving there. Perhaps in just another three years we get to kiss!_

"So, what happened in the Fade eventually? Anders said you sent him away to talk with the boy alone."

"Yeah… It's that the only available option for him to learn to control his powers is Tevinter, sadly. So I told him compilation of all lectures my Dad gave me about responsibility for magic and all that. How it's gonna be hard, but he shouldn't let magisters influence him."

"And you think he'll be able to resist?"

"I hope so. He seems to be a good kid. He was a bit pissed at me for sending him to the Circle instead of the Dalish, but got over it when I explained myself."

"Ah, yes. I remember being surprised you did so."

"Oh, right, we didn't talk back then. By the way, why did you think I did it then?"

"Well, I thought you're completely irrational and nonsensical at the time, so I just assumed there was a random fluctuation in your mood."

"So you thought I'm an idiot? Great."

"Let's say I thought you're lucky you're so beautiful."

I chuckled, shaking my head.

"But why did you actually send him to the Circle?"

"Well, as I told him, I'd be happy to let him go to the elves, but the only available Dalish clan had the Keeper who just dumped her blood mage apprentice on me and a creepy demon idol nearby, so it didn't seem as a great choice."

"Reasonable enough from your point. As for the boy, we shall see what he becomes, and if he regrets the mercy you provided."

I sighed, running my fingers over the sides of his neck and inducing a barely audible rumbling moan from him.

"Fenris, do I not see people for what they really are?"

"Of course," he answered without hesitation. "If you did, you wouldn't keep the possessed deserter and the blood mage in your company."

"Hey!"

"You asked," he shrugged and I pinched him.

"You believe world is better than it is, but it's not always bad. How can things change for the better, if there's no one who can imagine how 'better' should look like?"

"But not if it means being blind to the present."

"I'd prefer to live in your world," he said quietly and seriously, but then his tone lightened. "Everyone'd have a mabari, the most malicious thing mages could do would be turning boots into frogs and I believe I'd finally acquire a taste for fish, an armor of proper fashion and smaller eyebrows."

_With what I can feel under your shirt right now, you'd acquire no clothing at all..._

"I wouldn't change your eyebrows," I said, chuckling, and circled my arms around his neck.

"Really? Well, one step less on the road to perfection."

He placed his hand over mine and stroked it thoughtfully.

"Perhaps you could try that ear trick you spoke about?"

I blinked in surprise and sat down on the bench next to him to look him in the eyes.

"Are you sure?"

Fenris shrugged with a lopsided grin.

"Even if it doesn't help, it shouldn't hurt, right?"

"I mean, you seemed really unsettled by it back then."

His smirk softened, but his strangely intense gaze focused on me. He reached out slowly and catched my chin, then gingerly trailed his fingers up my cheek, then finally tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and smiled with an absent-minded satisfaction.

I just stared at him with raised eyebrows and he finally said, without moving his hand away.

"It's easier to accept different meaning behind the same gesture after you've experienced this intent yourself and been able to act on it."

_Whaaaat?_

I think he said that since he wanted to stroke me behind the ear himself and just did it, he doesn't mind? But what "different meaning behind the same gesture" could be there?

_Man, simpler the subject, the more sophisticated Fenris gets. I hope we'll never argue over who's doing the dishes or he'll drive me into existential crisis with philosophical rants._

I sighed and leaned a little into his palm, and suddenly something changed in his eyes, like a dark green sea depth losing the playful translucent gleam when the sun hides for a moment. His fingers tensed and he leaned forward, tilting his head a little, but caught himself in the last moment, coughing embarrassingly and taking his hand away.

_Wow, that was close. Maybe it won't take three years after all..._

"Fine then," I said softly and stood up, circling him to stand behind the bench.

Okay, where did she say that spot was? I hope I don't strike some instant killing spot instead… Err, _imagine a line from the tip of the ear down to the base that will divide it into two equal parts…_ A-ha, I think it's there… _Then press lightly and move clockwise…_

His body went limp, like some inner ties of it were cut. His head bobbed down and shoulders fell back, leaning on me, like a puppet with its threads loose.

"Maker's breath, are you alright?!"

"Perfectly fine," he sounded a little hazy, but coherent. "No need for shouting."

"But you just..."

"I believe it worked. Quite relaxing indeed. Go on."

I stroked behind his ear absent-mindedly, which prompted vaguely approving low rumbling.

_I dont think it was supposed to work this way… Well, maybe he only has two states - tense as a bow-string and barely awake lump. Wait a minute..._

"Fenris?"

"Mmmmph?"

"Did you even sleep last night?"

"Couldn't. Nightmares."

That's it then. Too much stress and sleep deprivation, so "relaxing" turned into "collapsing".

"You can't just stop sleeping!"

"It's fine," he muttered absently."I'll just drink until I pass out. Always works."

_Oh, Maker's breath!_

"You know what, let's get you to the bed."

He tensed up a bit, but didn't protest and stood up shakily, his eyelids lowered.

_Can he even walk right now?_

Hastily, I put my arm around his waist and, with me supporting him like this, we walked across the room to his narrow bed. There I started pulling away, but suddenly his arm tightened around me. I looked up at him in confusion. He half-sat on the bed, his knee resting here, and he didn't look like he couldn't support himself.

_Well, you're apparently able to keep your balance, so why do you…_

Then I met his eyes and lost my trail of thought. He looked at me from under half-closed lids, his eyes hazy and deep green, lips slightly parted, his hand, warm and firm on my waist, pulling me down. I felt my throat go dry, swallowed and saw his gaze flick over my lips. In the dark shadows, with only shimmering fire light from the other side of the room, his eyes gleamed with intoxicating, almost feverish anticipation.

But there was something even more unusual in him right now - something bordering on timidness or resignation, his features soften in a way more resembling passivity than comfort, and he avoided directly meeting my gaze. The lack of stubbornness and glaring focus in his eyes weirdly unsettled me.

"You look like a drunk racoon," I croaked, jerking away awkwardly. "You really need to sleep."

After a second of hesitation Fenris let me go, sliding back to the bed. When he settled on the pillow, this hazy seductiveness and strange compliance vanished, and he instantly turned into a grouchy dishevelled owling.

"I told you, I can't sleep."

I grinned. Grumpiness was good, I knew how to deal with grumpiness.

"Bullshit, you're barely awake right now."

"I won't be able to hear if someone enters. What if slavers come?"

I rolled my eyes, but didn't say anything and whistled loudly instead. In a second Rex rushed into a room, barking excitedly, obviously tired of waiting for me near the stairwell where I Ieft him.

"Guard," I told him, nodding at Fenris, and turned to the elf. "There. He'll hear anyone a street away."

He blinked in surprise and then smiled with an awkward gratefulness.

"Thank you. You didn't have to..."

"No!" I yelled, noticing that mabari quietly climbed at the bed. "Get down and stay on the floor!"

At Fenris' feet, Rex curled into the smallest ball the over-sized warhound could manage and pressed his head to the elf's knees, sighing like a martyr.

"Well, it's alright, I guess..." the elf started, but I cut him off.

"No, it's not! You don't know what you're talking about. In half-an-hour, he'll be lying on your pillow and you'll be lying on the floor."

Rex looked up at him with big wet eyes and whined tragically.

"Whimpering, really? I'm ashamed of you!"

"You can stay," the elf said, smiling, and I groaned.

"You're gonna regret trusting this manipulating bastard, you fool."

"Well, then it seems I never learn," he answered with a crooked grin. I sighed.

"Get good rest. Rex, don't let him get up until it's at least noon tomorrow."

He smiled sleepily, obviously struggling to keep awake, soft sunshine in his eyes muted by almost closed lashes and disheveled bangs. But now it was his usual tentative tenderness looking out from behind an awkward pride, so I grinned back.

"Thank you… for everything."

"Nah, it's ok. Just remember, you're not allowed to have bad dreams tonight."

He smile grew wider and I couldn't help myself. I leaned in, quickly planted a kiss on the tip of his nose and walked out, grinning when he breathed out hoarsely behind my back.

* * *

><p>"Congratulations. You've handled it well," the pleasant voice I hoped to never hear again said out of nowhere.<p>

"Get out of my dream."

"How rude. And here I was trying to satisfy your taste with the view."

I stood on a steep slope of a volcano, obsidian black rocks around creating sharp-edged silhouette. Between them, flowing slowly from a crater at the top, crept torrents of lava - swirling bright azure streams, illuminating an eerie glow.

"Very subtle hint that you can get into my head."

"Nothing like that. "It's not like you didn't know that any demon can read thoughts and dreams of mortals. Fortunately, very few know how to use it efficiently."

"Fortunately?"

"I wouldn't want a competition. So, as I said, the situation resolved very productively. You learned that I was right…"

"No, you weren't."

"...and that your supposed friends can betray you at any moment, if you don't control them."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, shut up."

"Don't be so upset. It will bring you benefits too. It's useful to have honorable people to betray you once and be forgiven. Next time in crisis their guilt will keep them loyal even if they won't approve of your decision."

"I don't need your advice on how to treat my friends."

"Oh, but you do..."

Blue lyrium veins flared up and started to spiral around me.

"Your branded wolf requires a careful approach."

"Don't you fucking call him that."

"Ha, I rather detest it myself. Wolf, what a boring cliche. This old master of his was obviously deprived of imagination. 'Tis fortunate it's wasn't he who designed the tattoos, or it'd be just stripes. You, on the other hand, have very vivid imagination. This volcano metaphor is very refreshing. But you need to go deeper. You should learn to shape people into the concepts you want."

"What bullshit is it?"

"This is not bullshit at all. Ideas shape the Fade, but they also shape people - their minds. All you need to do is change someone's perception of themselves. This elf would provided an excellent training material - he's already very confused about who he is. And even if you'll make mistakes, it won't be critical - it's hard to make his situation much worse than it is now. And I'll help you to make it better."

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll be grateful."

"Of course he will. He'll be grateful for any sense of stability. He's in a constant stress and anxiety right now, because he doesn't have any behavioral scenarios for this life - and especially for the relationship with you."

"Oh, I don't know how to act with him too, it's not that bad, it just takes a little time."

"No. You just don't know which pattern to use, so you try few different until it works."

Few little obsidian bridges sprout up from under my feet, crossing the glowing blue steams around.

"He has to construct a completely new path, which is much more harder."

Separated rocks started to pile up, as if trying to form a bridge, but quickly shook and fell into lava.

"You see, you mortals are constricted by crude limitations of your meat. I meant bodies, sorry. Your mind is able to form new different behavioral scenarios easily only until a certain age. Just childhood, actually. Still possible in adolescence, but takes much more effort. For adults, it's nearly impossible. That's why people seek out partners who remind them of their parents or previous lovers, even if they weren't happy together - it's simply because _they know how to act_ around these people. This is what your elf longs for - a scenario where he knows how to act."

"But he doesn't remember his life before the markings and the only way he knows how to act is… Maker's breath, fuck you! I'm not going to act like a slaver!"

"Oh, spare me your peevish hysterics. You oversimplify it. Of course, I don't tell you to put a leash on him. It's only a core of scenario, the prime dynamics that you need to resemble. He wouldn't even know it and, of course, no one would use that crudish term."

"No fucking way!"

"Honestly, it's rather cruel of you to make him struggle like he does now, alone and without support."

"Will you shut the fuck up? He's smart, he can figure out how to live his life."

"Foolish, foolish blind hawk. Any identity is build on acceptance of others. You can't be a lover without someone to love. You're such confident brave hawk because your parents taught you that you'll be accepted no matter what you'll choose to be. And you think your elf will manage to build some positive identity on that nice self-loathing foundation he's got only with your half-hearted joking compliments? You truly are astonishingly blind."

I gritted my teeth, trying to find arguments, but he continued again.

"Don't worry, I'll help you. I'll teach you how to weave him into a perfect fairytale you always wanted. He will be my gift to you to celebrate the beginning of our partnership."

"Screw you!"

I woke up while rocks scattered over the sides of volcano with a sound of his laugh.

_Let our formulas find your soul._

_We'll divine your artesian source (in your mind),_

_Marshal feed and force (our machines will)_

_To design you a perfect love—_

_Or (better still) a perfect lust._


	15. Expecting a bit much from the wounded

_But I threw you the obvious, just to see if there's more behind the _  
><em>Eyes of a fallen angel, eyes of a tragedy.<em>

_Here I am expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded_

* * *

><p>The sun was shining, the birds were singing, flowers were blooming at the sides of the road, the sea rumbled pleasantly at the bottom of a hill and to balance out all that positivity the Maker sent us Fenris.<p>

"Vishante kaffas! What is this?"

"It's nature, Fenris," I said serenely, without looking back at him.

"It's yellow, slippery and it's stuck to my foot!"

"It's a wonder of nature then," I said even more silkily.

"Oh, I know this mushroom! We made glue out of it back in the clan," Merrill explained enthusiastically and Fenris groaned.

He was in the mood that Varric calls "brooding" and Isabela - "smoldering cool". It's an amusing combination of contradictions, cold spiky insolence and smoky glares.

"So you finally made a friend, Broody," Varric chuckled. "Though you have plenty of a kind living in your mansion already."

The elf grunted indistinctly, speeding up to catch up with me.

"Why are we going there, again?"

"Merrill wants me to hold her hand and look impressive while she's trying to convince the Keeper to give her some sort of sacred item to repair her mirror."

"So you're going to help her fix it, because it was a slow week for cursed artifacts?"

"No, if Marethari asks for my opinion, I'll tell her to do her job for once and keep her people away from dangerous things."

"Did you tell that to Merrill?"

"Of course."

"And she still asked you to come?"

"Yep. She wants to appease to some old elven tradition, which apparently obliges elven authorities into giving you stuff if you do some sort of quest for them. So Merrill needs us to help her with that."

"So we're going to fight a crowd of monsters for a magical wrench?"

"Yeah."

"And then refuse to take it?

"Yep."

"How is any of this makes any sense?"

Actually I think Fenris has two radically different states of moods. Most of the time - and all the time when we just met - it's "brooding", he's this sharp-edged mess of shards of the blackened silver, kept together with sheer willpower, so tense that there's almost visible electrifying field, sparking lightnings every time anyone as much as tries to approach him. But lately I've seen another side of him - calm, confident and smooth like a ribbon of silk, with soft and shimmering light of sunlit smiles.

"I don't know, it's you who've got the sticky yellow shit on your feet because you reject boots. I think you're more qualified to understand elven traditions."

"And you're following those traditions because the absurdity of it resonates with your nature?"

I groaned.

"Fenris, relax, will you? You don't have to have perfect control over everything and predict all outcomes. Sometimes you've just gotta let the flow of the world carry you and make the best of the circumstances."

He looked at me like I just slapped him with a fish.

"Excuse me, I foolishly expected us to have some purpose in our ventures, but I suppose getting beaten while meddling in blood magic affairs is a sufficient plan."

"Oh, for fuck's sake! I need to keep an eye on Merrill anyway, was I supposed to let her go unsupervised? And after all, killing a bunch of monsters is never a bad thing and we'll stumble upon bits of treasure on the way."

Granted, in the prickly silver mood he has a certain unique kind of charm. There's this blinding cold light, reflected of the sharp spikes, contrast of explosive temper and freezing pride, acidic sarcasm and hidden possessive sadness behind it, the edgy sense of barely restricted danger and challenge. It all created strange whirlpool of almost gravitational attractiveness - you couldn't not notice him, even when he tried to stay inconspicuous. _Especially _when he tried to. Didn't work on me in early years, because I was convinced that it's partly intentional and partly it's just his inner jerk shining through. Now I could understand the appeal though...

"What's your problem today? Did a bird pooped in your tea this morning? I told you, you need to fix those holes in the roof."

"No, nobody has pestered me today aside from you."

_Andraste's goggles be the witness, I wasn't even hanging around you today! It was you who started grumbling without reason and now that's me who does the pestering?_

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you have a Scowling Championship today. We'll try to get back early and of course you're welcome to practice on me."

But trying to be friendly with him in those times was incredibly draining. It was impossible to not slip into snapping verbal duels in about five minutes span.

"I… sorry, I didn't mean to antagonize you. It's just..." he swallowed and shrugged and for a moment his mask of an irritation slipped, leaving uncertainly raised eyebrows and miserably turned down corners of the mouth.

… But if you do manage to strike through the defense of silver spikes, he turns into morose bitter ghost. And for years I thought it's demonstrative overreaction of an incredibly short temper, but now I know it's also a flood of self-loathing loneliness.

I sighed. I know that this aggravating insolence is mostly his incredibly awkward way of hiding nervousness, so out-bantering him doesn't feel good anymore.

But at the moment we rounded a cliff and saw some armored people standing in our way.

"Hunters," Fenris breathed out, abruptly stopping at his tracks.

_What? Why? How do you know? They look like just random passing mercenaries to me... _

"Stop right there!" The voice from the sky said. I looked up and saw a bunch of men standing on a cliff above us. The one with a sleazy mustache announced "You're in possession of stolen property. Back away from the slave now and you'll be spared."

_Maybe that awful under-nose bush is a mark of slavers in Tevinter and that's how Fenris recognizes them._

"Too bad there isn't one around, or maybe _you'd _be spared!" I shouted and flung a fireball at his feet. The cliff's edge collapsed and hunters fell down, screaming.

_It's raining men, praise the Maker!_

"Just joking," I said, summoning a lightning storm, while the fight started around me. "You wouldn't be spared anyway."

_Do those slavers have to be so obnoxiously evil out loud?_ I thought, looting their bodies after a fight while Fenris interrogated a guy he caught alive, twisting him into a sailor's knot on the ground. _How is enraging fugitives makes them easier to catch?_

Meanwhile Fenris snapped slaver's neck as easily as chicken's and strode up to me, looking pissed and determined.

"Hadriana."

Antivan Crows could be supplied for a whole year with poison bottled up from his voice.

"I was a fool to think I was free. They'll never let me be!"

"Who is that?" I asked warily, trying to channel his exploding temper into the constructive course.

"My old master's apprentice." I guess today _is_ the Scowling Championship, because his grimace was beating all the records right now. "I remember her well: a sniveling social climber that would sell her own children if she thought it would please Danarius. If she's here, it's at his bidding. I knew he wouldn't let this go!"

"Then why are we standing around?"

_Merrill's demonic mirror definitely can wait since we're in risk of our fighter spontaneously exploding..._

"The holding caves held slaves in the old times, but apparently they are no longer abandoned." He frowned, eyeing me grimly. "We must go quickly, before Hadriana has a chance to prepare… or flee."

* * *

><p>Fenris felt this familiar sickening smell the moment they entered the tunnels. Lavender. Magisters refined taste was offended by the smells their gory rituals produced, so they sprayed perfume around to cover it. Maybe for human senses it was sufficient, but for the elf it only created more revolting mixture.<p>

_Lavender - Hadriana's favorite scent and color…_

He knew what they'll find in the next room before they opened the door. The dead body slanted over the stone altar in the pool of drying blood. Heavy suffocating smell of sugary lavender mixing with blood almost choked him.

The memories of Tevinter rushed into his mind and he tried to block them desperately.

"See for yourself," he drawled bitterly, throwing a glare at the blood mage. "The legacy of the magisters."

"They sacrifice the unwilling?" Merrill muttered with disbelief.

_Is it too much to expect from you to grasp the obvious right in front of you?_

"Is that so hard to believe? You are only a step away from it, yourself."

"That's not true."

Her naivety was aggravating and, in a sense, disrespectful to the victim.

_How dare you to cling to your illusions in a face of pain, torture and death of countless innocents proving you wrong?_

"Believe what you like. In my experience, mages always find a way to justify their need for power."

_Nothing ever changes. They'll cling to any excuse to use others as fuel for their power, because this is what magic is - a promise of superiority. Deep down, all of them believe that this is right, that being given the possibility of power means that they are destined to use it at expense of others, who are unworthy just by the fact of missing this gift. _

The insides of his mouth tasted like dust, blood and metal. He barely restrained himself from spitting and followed Hawke into the next room.

All of these tunnels had too much of familiar resembling to Tevinter. Sure, Kirkwall bore the legacy of the Imperium too - in it's architecture, bas reliefs, especially with everything in the Gallows. But after the magisters left, it was absorbed and deformed by the locals, becoming something new even if with the shadows of the past still hiding in the corners. These caves were different, everything in them stayed in exactly same way as it was when the tunnels were abandoned.

But the worst were the eyes of the hunters. They looked at him like at the dangerous animal that went mad and have to be put down. In last years in Kirkwall he got used to the bandits insulting his race, appearance, anything they could think of, but slavers didn't care to offend him. When they screamed at him, it sounded like commands, like those you repeat at the enraged dog to get through it's fury. And no insults, just "slave" - without even meaning offence, just a matter of fact. This word lashed through him with much more impact than any curses of simple bandits ever could. Because everything he earned, all changes he went through, nothing of it mattered, he was again a piece of meat, valuable only for lyrium in his flesh.

His skin crawled under these eyes, he wanted to scream "I'm not a slave" back at them, but held in these pointless urges, helpless rage boiling up inside of him. He focused all of it on the image of Hadriana, her face standing in front of his eyes since the moment he heard her name from the hunter. The humiliation, the shameful fear of his deal with the demon, the restless despair that made him wake up from the nightmares and then lay sleepless at night, all of it was planted by her and Danarius and he finally had a chance to make her pay.

In one of the big halls after they killed another group of hunters, they found a scared elven girl hiding in a corner.

"Are you hurt?" Fenris asked, running up to her. "Did they touch you?"

She looked at him with panicked incomprehensive eyes.

"They've been killing everyone! They cut papa, bled him..."

"Why? Why would they do this?" He knew the answer before he even finished the question.

"These poor people. This is… ghastly," Merrill muttered behind his back and he felt a twinge of anger.

_Blood mage. How dare you to act like you're any different._

"The magister… she said she needed power, that someone was coming to kill her," the slave rambled, pacing around nervously. "We tried to be good! We did everything we were told! She loved papa's soup. I don't understand..."

"I'm so sorry," Hawke said softly. "This has been terrible for you."

"Everything was fine until today!" the elf said with a desperate conviction. Her tone was so familiar, Fenris had to look down to hide his cringing. The slave's desire for any sense of reason or stability in their lives, denial of deprivation you're going through, a belief that if you just try hard enough to be what is wanted from you, if you please the master, you'll be safe and everything will be fine...

"It wasn't. You just didn't know any better," he rasped, finally looking up, and saw a sudden hope in her eyes.

"Are you my master now?" she asked, leaning forward, and Fenris stumbled back, appalled.

"No!" he snapped, throwing up his hands.

"But… I can cook. I can clean! What else will I do?" she pleaded desperately, staring at him with scared, but obedient eyes. He felt lost, sick from her calling him a master, her panic and the fact that he had no idea what to tell her.

"If you go to Kirkwall, I can help you."

The slave turned to Hawke, beaming with familiar submissive adoration. Fenris felt so mad that he lost an ability to speak for a second.

"Yes? Oh, praise the Maker! Thank you!"

She ran away, quickly, as if afraid that Hawke will change her mind about exploiting her.

"I didn't realize you're in the market for a slave," Fenris said flatly, turning to the mage with his eyes narrowed in indignation.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Hawke almost jumped, her eyes round and yellow. "I'm giving her a job!"

It took a second for that to sink in and go from anger to embarrassment.

"Ah. Then…" Fenris muttered awkwardly."That's good. My apologies."

Hawke still eyed him in the offended disbelief and said nothing.

He shook his head and walked to the door, avoiding her gaze, tired from being torn apart and disorientated.

"Let's find Hadriana and be done with this place."

* * *

><p>Varric was worried. It's not that he thought they were in danger. Hawke and Fenris were cutting through enemies like, well, a pyromantic mage and matter-phasing fighter through butter. Hot knife had nothing on them.<p>

But the elf was absolutely blinded by memories, rage and pain. He raced forward like a mad horse with blinders, stumping everything on his way and, since Hawke was too stubborn and proud to move out of his way, Varric was afraid they're gonna clash. Badly.

_They were two people who weren't used to being in love and because of that they were getting mad at each other with the same speed as falling for each other. _

Which is rapidly and the collision is going to smother mountains, dry the oceans and destroy the little of nerves that Varric still had left.

At the moment that Hadriana magister was sprawled helplessly on the floor, looking up at Fenris, who just stepped between her and her staff and was raising his sword for the killing blow so high, that Varric thought he's gonna scrap the ceiling.

"Stop! You do not want me dead!"

Varric studied the woman with professional interest of a storyteller. Her tone was desperate, but still bold, she was so sure that it won't end like that for her. She wore elegant lavender robes, too fragile for fighting, and her hair was styled too delicately. Though she was obviously scared, she still thought that she's too good for all of them.

"There is only one person I want dead more," Fenris growled. Hawke silently watched the magister with a peculiar kind of disgusted irritation with a hint of curiosity, like she just found a bug she's never seen before crawling up her bed.

"I have information, elf, and I will trade it in return for my life."

"The location of Danarius? What good will that do to me?" the elf asked acidly. "I'd rather he lose his pet pupil."

"You have a sister!" the mage said quickly. "She is alive."

That made an elf stumble. He lowered his sword, his eyes widening.

"You wish to reclaim your life?" the magister continued, barely hiding a triumph. "Let me go and I will tell you where she is."

Fenris stood motionless for a minute, frowning, tense and conflicted.

"This is your call," Hawke said softly. Varric waited for her to continue, because usually Hawke says "well, this is your call" right before detailed passionate speech about what is a right decision to make, but it's totally your call to be a fool and do something else. But she didn't say anything, just looking at the elf with quiet sympathy.

"So I have your word? I tell you, and you let me go?" the magister urged, already sure she's going to get away.

Personally, Varric thought it's the most bullshit deal he heard of since a guy offered him a monthly abonnement for morning songs from the birds nested under the tavern roof. But strangely though, if he could imagine anyone desperate enough to take it and so impractically principled to keep it, it'd be Fenris.

"Yes," the elf stepped forward and bent over Hadriana in one smooth motion, suddenly his face expressionless and his voice leveled. "You have my word."

"Her name is Varania. She is in Qarinus serving a magister by the name of Ahriman."

"A servant. Not a slave."

"She's not a slave."

"I believe you," Fenris said calmly, leaning back for a bit, Hadriana started to smile with relief, but then the elf abruptly plunged a hand into her chest. She gasped, but no sound came, though there was an unpleasant simultaneously creaky and wet noise, presumably of her heart being ripped. Then the magister's body shrinked down lifelessly and Fenris straightened up, turning around.

"We are done here," he said flatly, walking past the group. Hawke bit her lip and took a step after him.

_Nope, nope, not now, Hawke..._

"Do you want to talk about it?"

_Shit is about to go down as messily as a drunk whore on a contused sailor..._

"No, I don't want to talk about it!"

Fenris spun on his heels, his face suddenly breaking into an angry grimace.

"This could be a trap! Danarius could have sent Hadriana here to tell me about this "sister," the elf waved his hands in front of Hawke, who eyed him with a pained compassion. "Even if he didn't, trying to find her would still be suicide! Danarius has to know about her and has to know about her and has to know that Hadriana knows."

He finally faltered and turned around, looking down and clutching his fists.

"But all that matters is that I finally got to crush this bitch's heart. May she rot and all other mages with her."

_Oh shit, here we go… We're in a desperate need of some wine bottles to drink and throw at the walls._

The elf didn't see how Hawke took a step back and swallowed hard, before narrowing her eyes.

"Let's not not forget who you're talking to."

"I haven't forgotten," Fenris gritted through his teeth, turning to her. "You saw what was done here. There's always going to be some some reason, some excuse why mages need to do this. Even if I found my sister, who knows what the magisters have done to her. What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?"

Hawke's chin went up, her nostrils flaring.

_Ok, first, grab Merrill, second, fall to the floor..._

"Well, excuse me, I'll go _rot _someplace else then to not spoil your company!"

The mage turned abruptly on her heels and marched to the exit door, kicking up the dust in her wake. The elf's veil of anger faded, his eyes widening in dismay when he called after her.

"Hawke!"

She strode out of the room without looking back and the stone door behind her back slammed so hard, it struck the sparks out of the frame.

_Force mages are the worst natural disaster. At least she didn't bring the ceiling down._

Fenris inhaled sharply, radiating dramatic angst so powerful, that if they weren't in the middle of wilderness, women would be attracted through the walls, and stormed out of the second door, back to the caves they just went through.

_Save it up, Broody, you're gonna need your best puppy eyes later to deal with Hawke._

Going after him didn't seem to be much reasonable, so Varric sighed and went to the exit door through which Hawke walked out. It was stuck. Varric tried to pull it with all the strength he's got, but it didn't move even for a bit.

_Of course. I wish dwarfs actually had mystical powers over stone humans think we possess. _

Fenris would be able to open it, most likely, but Varric had hunch the elf won't appreciate request of opening doors in the middle of his self-loathing session.

"Can I talk already?" Merrill whispered behind his back.

_Oh, right, I told her to not only never get in between Fenris and Hawke when they're fighting, but also to keep silent for at least ten minutes after. That was really useful today, any pro-blood magic comments could get her stumped just a minute ago._

"Yep. And Daisy, apparently Hawke had… accidently blocked the door. Can you... un-magic that?"

"I'm afraid not," the elf said, looking over the door thoughtfully. "It doesn't have any blood to command. I can summon plants to help and tug on it though."

_Great. The terrifying power of the forbidden magic. _

Speaking of blood mages, this Hariana must have been a real prize. Fenris never uttered a profanity word in Common, not a single "shit" or "fuck", but mastered up "bitch" just for her. That's an achievement.

"Okay, I'll pull on the handle and you get your flower friends to help, on account of three. One, two..."

The door swung open and Hawke stood in the arch, looking extremely irritated, moderately uncomfortable and just a little bit ashamed.

"Oh!" Varric bowed exaggeratedly "Our kind leader decided to take pity on us and not bury her humble followers in the caves. She's here to show us the light of hope again!"

"How thoughtful of you!" beamed Merrill.

Hawke glared at Varric furiously just to stumble over actual sincerity in Merrill's look. She rolled her eyes, quickly glanced over the room in ashe thought was inconspicuous manner and clenched her jaw at the absence of Fenris.

"Okay, if you're done complaining over one minute of waiting, let's go."

"Ahem," Varric said, nodding at the other door. "Broody went that way."

"So what? Do you expect me to run after him after what all of this?"

"I think he's clearly in the middle of some sort of the episode and isn't handling the reality very well at the moment."

Hawke frowned for a second.

"I'm pretty sure we killed all hunters in those caves, and he's not a helpless lamb anyway. Actually, I pity any unlucky bandits that could cross his way right now."

_Well, at least she didn't went 'Fuck this douche, I don't care if dies and never want to see him again.'_

"You do realize he didn't actually mean..."

"Varric," Hawke said flatly, glaring over the shoulder. "Shut up or I'll slam the door again and won't come back this time."

The dwarf sighed. Eh, at least he tried. That's more than anyone could expect from my shattered nerves. He didn't even expect to survive.

_Difficult not to feel a little bit disappointed, and passed over  
>When I've looked right through, see you naked but oblivious.<em>

_And you don't see me._

* * *

><p>So time for some wall-slamming in the next chapter ;D<p> 


	16. What you are is lonely

_A/N: sorry, I'm overloaded at work and have a strike of constant headaches, so this chapter is even more messy and nonsensical than usually._

* * *

><p><em>You're only meant to hurt once in a while<em>  
><em>Who gave you reason?<em>  
><em>You're only meant to cry once in a while<em>  
><em>Who gave you a reason?<em>

"What the heck?" I opened my eyes to see already familiar obsidian darkness. "I wasn't even sleeping, I was drinking with Varric in the Hanged Man!"

The demon's faint chuckle rustled somewhere beyond my reach.

"I have many agents and even more resources. It wasn't a problem to slip a sleep potion into your ale. Your dwarf doesn't even suspect anything. He thinks you just passed out from drink and exhaustion."

I gritted my teeth at the underlying threat. It could have as easily be a poison.

"So you just wanted to show off? Wasting resources, though I'd go to sleep in a couple of hours anyway? So much for your praised strategical efficiency."

"I think it wouldn't be terribly efficient for me to give you an advice after you'd already screwed the whole thing up."

"Thanks, I don't need your advices on how to hold my drink."

"Your elf. By the time you get home, he'll be there waiting, desperate and distraught. A perfect state to shape him into anything you want."

"Wait, wait, are you gonna… forcibly put some sorts of commands in his mind, or what, you slimy piece of disgusting manipulating shit?"

"Please, I'm not some crude blood mage to just rewrite a person's mind. In a sense, it'd be like admitting defeat, your own incompetence in finer methods. No, I'm going to show you how to do it yourself- without any magic, just words."

The rustling changed its tone, from slithery gravel to smooth silk.

"Tell him that hate is a poison that he keeps drinking by his own choice. Tell him that he should move on and stop spending his energy on pointless anger."

I blinked, frowning. What's the catch here?

"Sounds wise and positive, is it not? Because you mortals are in complete denial of how your mind works, it's just amazingly easy to manipulate you."

His laugh betrayed the rocks gliding down from under your feet to the abyss.

"The thing is, you can't control your emotions. When you bags of flesh are _feeling _something, you can't just stop or start feeling something else by choice. So if you tell your wolf that it's his choice to be angry and hurt, you're shifting the blame for it from his old masters to himself. Also, anger is a natural response to being wronged, it also helps him to not slip into depressing self-loathing. By telling him that he shouldn't be angry, you'll subtly reinforce the idea that his pain is worth nothing and he doesn't have a right to stand up for himself."

I just stood in silence, blinking vigorously and trying to process all of it.

"Also, telling him that he should move on shifts focus from him dealing with his issues to him trying to stop feeling what he feels. Which, as I said already, is impossible, so he'll feel helpless and deficient. It'll only make him more angry and miserable, and so a wonderful spiral of self-loathing will be cemented."

"I don't want him to hate himself, what the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Wait, we're moving to the best part - what he craves the most is acceptance and you'll give him it, but conditional. It doesn't even matter what's on the list, the core of it is that he's not good enough as he is. But you already have this lovely mage-hating thing going, so press on it. Insist that he shouldn't be prejudiced against magic, that he should stop blaming magic for his pain."

I frowned.

"You're doing this anyway, right? I just offer you a control over consequences. Desire for happiness will tear him apart and eventually he'll convince yourself that you're right. Of course, he won't stop hurting and most likely move from distrusting mages like now to downright hating them, but all of that will only make him more miserable. Eventually he'll give up, convince himself that he isn't capable of making his own decisions and shrug off the responsibility for his life to you, hoping to finally be happy."

"He won't be happy."

"No, but he'll be yours. And you mortals in that greediness that you call "love" can't tell the difference anyway. Also, he'll have the closest thing to happiness he ever knew. It'll be enough for him."

I felt sick and nauseous even in a dream. When I was arguing with Fenris over magic, I never meant by it that his pain is his own fault. I never even thought that he could take it that way. But telling him that it's his fault that he can't move on and simultaneously that he can't blame magic… for someone so prone to self-eating as Fenris, it sure can lead here...

"He was told his whole life that he's worthless, that his sole purpose for living is to be used. That he has to pay with himself for every bit of warmth he could receive. He's already convinced that opening up means being hurt. Press hard enough and he'll fall down to it once again. Just call your ownership "love".

"What? No! I mean, he's so proud and prickly and..."

"His pride is propped up by anger, not good self-esteem, so it's unstable. If you take away his right to be angry - by telling him that all his troubles were his fault, - you'll turn the crutches of anger into a burden and it'll crush him eventually."

I bit my lip.

"There has to be the other way," I said, expecting him to deny - hoping that he'll deny, because then it'll show that he's lying and this would mean that he's lying about everything else too.

But there was just laughter, gravel sliding down the mountain side into a chasm.

"Of course there is, but you won't take it. It requires patience, genuine caring and wisdom, and above all, time, and you don't have anything of it. You like saving people in one big dramatic action, and that won't work here. To believe that he isn't an object, that he isn't hopeless, he'd need constant support and validation."

"Err, validation?"

"Reassurance that his feelings are normal, that his struggle is not his fault and it's okay to take as much time as needed, that his emotions are not a burden that needs to be hidden and do not make him pitiful and weak."

"Wait, he thinks that?"

"Of course. What do you think explains him being cold and controlled most of the time and then having such dramatic emotional outbursts? He locks everything inside, it brews until he reaches the boiling point and explodes."

The evasive voice got whispery, scathing.

"But why would you even want to go into so much trouble? Do you love him?"

I stumbled.

"No! I like him okay, but it's not love or whatever."

"Then why would you want to devote so much time and effort? Why would you put his interests above yours?"

"I… I mean..."

"Or are you actually tempted of playing a gentle maid and fixing the tragically broken?"

"What? No!"

"Then stop fooling yourself. Tell him it's his fault that he's hurting. Tell him that he's still a slave. Make it easier for both of you."

* * *

><p>I took a deep breath before opening the door to our mansion, feeling irritatingly conflicted. On one hand, deep down I was worried about this asshole roaming the countryside alone in a throes of broody anger, so if he's here right now, it'd be a relief. On the other hand, if he's here, than this stupid freaking demon is right again, and I want this snobbish son of a bitch to be wrong finally, so I can convince myself he's wrong in other of his predictions and implications.<p>

Fenris was sitting on a bench with his head lowered heavily, but he sprang up when I stepped through the door and walked up to me, looking miserable, but determined. I stifled a sigh.

"I've been thinking about what happened with Hadriana," he started firmly, but then looked away, "I took out my anger on you, undeservedly so. I was not myself. I'm sorry."

He reeked of despair and confusion, intense and unstable like a ball lighting in a search of something to smash into.

"That's it?"

He tensed up even more, though I didn't think it's even possible, and his eyes got a brittle glassy look in them.

"If you wish, I can go." He said slowly, his voice leveled, with just a hair-wide crack in it. "You need not see me again."

_Maker's tri-colored beard, can you stop over-dramatizing for five seconds?_

"All I want to know is what happened in here."

He took a couple of steps to the side, looking away, his face expressionless.

"When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep." His mask of calmness breaking with anger and disgust and voice dropping almost to a growl. "Because of her status, I was powerless to respond and she knew it."

He collected himself again and finally looked at me, and I expected rage, pride, fear, anything but this devastating helplessness.

"The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now… I couldn't let her go, I wanted to, but I couldn't."

"You don't owe her anything," I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalantly. "And it wouldn't be smart to let her escape."

"It's just hard to accept that you're less noble than you've thought," he said with a quiet, wrung out voice and I sighed.

"So you threw a temper tantrum because you were disappointed that you broke your promise to a blood mage, who tortured and abused you for years, then tried to capture or kill you, and when failed, tried to sell you a story with no proof? Dude, seriously, if you wanna eat yourself over something, these feather-gauntlets are better choice."

Fenris cocked his head to the side thoughtfully.

"Well, when you put it this way..."

"And really noble thing to do was to gloat before killing her." He raised eyebrows and I gave him a crooked grin. "I'd hanged around these noble types a lot lately, trust me. Stabbing people in the back and double-crossing them is totally ok and even heroic if they as much as mildly offended your dress a while ago."

"Does it mean you'd kill her even if I Iet her go?"

"Nope. It's your decision, and even if I think it's a stupid decision, I'd back you on that. You did so in a lot of mine after all."

There was a ghost of smile, gone in a heartbeat, his eyes again dark green, desperate and restless.

"This hate… I thought I'd gotten away from it. But it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it, to know it was they who planted it inside me… it was too much to bear."

He looked at me finally, there was hunger and storm in his look, it made my skin tingle and breath hitch. And I thought he was overdoing it with random eyesex before. And it was such a unique, strange appeal too. I mean, it's not like Fenris wasn't hot like a red pepper on fire on a regular basis, you always got this sensation of a scorching tight spring coiled up inside of him. But it wasn't just that right now, it was a strange feeling of a pyramid of sharp shards balancing on the edge of the abyss. This unstableness and a sense of danger and disaster that's about to happen made your skin itch, you wanted to reach out and interfere - and it didn't even matter if you pull it together or everything falls down, you just need to stop this nerve-wrecking uncertainty.

"But I didn't come to burden you further."

_No, I'm pretty sure that's not what they call it in the Blooming Rose…_

But he was ever so reluctant ball lightning, he needed an invitation before crashing into you at full speed. Just a little push to throw him off the edge, a small spark to set the explosives off…

It was my pride that slammed on the brakes at first.

_Are you shitting me, you're not going to let him __**brood **__you into bed! Dude, I'm not a charity brothel!_

And what I am, a motherfucking tree for him to provide a convenient excuse for an explosion? I don't sleep with people just because they're in emotional turmoil, I sleep with them if… well, if they're decidedly and fully interested in sleeping with me.

And then I looked at him and heard the demon's slithery voice in my head.

_He was told his whole life that he's worthless, that his sole purpose for living is to be used. That he has to pay with himself for every bit of warmth he could receive. _

He doesn't need sex right now, he just needs someone to be there for him. I don't want this to happen just because he's falling apart and doesn't know how to be close to the other person.

But I also can't let him go like that.

"Okay, let's go," I said cheerfully. "We can't just stand in the hallway the whole evening, let's get to the library."

He looked at me, frowning, clearly wanting so badly to accept, but afraid to "be a burden". There were also distant echoes of "not being made of glass" ghosting around. It was groan-inducing, I wanted to just grab his arm and drag him in.

_He was being dragged and pushed around too much his whole life. That's not how it's gonna go between us._

"Come on, you're obviously going to get wasted and you shouldn't be alone tonight. I have some pretty good wines and I need a drink too." I said, grinning reassuredly, and offered him an open hand. Fenris looked at me with nervous wide opened eyes, a ball lightning scared of the open window.

He started moving his hand, but then suddenly jerked away and I felt unexpectedly big pang of disappointment. But he didn't stormed off like I expected, he stayed in place, fumbling with his gauntlet with muted curses in Arcanum under his breath. My eyes widened when the elf slid this spiky monstrosity off his right arm and looked up, his eyes still cautious, but without this haunted expectation of being trapped.

"I suppose I can resort from the best wines to just pretty good ones to save your evening," he said cockily, but took my hand gingerly, with a little awkward pause to figure out a comfortable angle, and something tugged inside of my chest, because the dramatic hurricane of angsty sexual tension suddenly vanished, leaving just a guy, nervous, but hopeful and warm. He's not a ghost, or a beast or a mystery, it'd be cruel to treat him like an experience, to use his pain and confusion as an opportunity for an exotic hot adventure.

I grinned, squeezed his fingers and finally got the first real radiant smile from him today.

"Shut up, you ass, and don't throw bottles at the walls."

After that there's none of his usual guards and prickliness for the evening. He tried to half-heartedly refuse to shed the metal bits of his armor, but I strictly proclaimed that I won't let these stupid spikes to tear my favorite blanket and the idea of the blanket seemed to stun him for at least ten minutes straight, so he didn't even argue anymore. So now he was sitting in the big armchair, draped in blankets, cradling a cup of warm wine and smiling with disbelief and awkward gratefulness.

I remembered how the day we met I left him alone in that creepy mansion of his master, confused and scared under the cocky bravado, and how many times he'd shut himself out, because he thought that people poking his sore spots is totally okay and normal thing to happen.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't have anything for you right now." I looked up at the sound of Fenris' soft voice and saw that Rex put head on his lap and was making blackmailing puppy eyes. "I don't think that giving you wine is a good idea."

"He probably just wants you to pet him."

The elf cautiously scratched behind mabari's ears and glanced at me.

"Is it alright? I… don't really know how it's supposed to be done."

I chuckled and rolled my eyes.

"Even if he acts like an attention-seeking puppy, he's a warhound. Short of actually poking him in the eye, it's really hard to screw this up."

Fenris smirked with the corner of the lips, but seemed to relax, his fingers running through dog's short fur with a certainty now.

"Others would get a lap dog to have a permanent puppy," he mused absently. "You've managed to bring that out in a warhound."

"Hey! It's not like I raised him like that on purpose! It's just was in his nature and I… well, I just let him to be himself."

"Yes," he said slowly and smirked with one side of his mouth. "You have a talent for that."

We finished a bottle and got to the middle of the next one, when Fenris slipped into a gloomy quietness, somehow making petting an excited mabari look angsty and melancholic.

"Danarius and Hadriana sometimes let me have scraps from their table," his voice was distant and he didn't look me in the eye.

"She died too fast and easy," I said curtly.

"Perhaps. But I doubt that even if given a chance, I could bring myself to actually torture them."

I sighed and hid a smile.

"No. No, you wouldn't."

_And this is why I'm here with you right now._

He let out a short irritated groan and stood up, spooking Rex.

"It's a sickness, this hate," he was pacing, his hands making abrupt gestures full of pent up nervous energy."This dark grows inside me that I can't ever get rid of. And even when I had a chance to let it out, to finally get a revenge that I wanted for so long, I end up just being disgusted with myself."

"I'm sure there will be more hunters for you to practice," I joked without thinking and immediately wanted to punch myself in the face.

_Maker's breath, woman, could you say anything dumber? Stop acting like an insensitive jerk with terrible sense of humor that Varric tries to pass you off in his stories!_

I expected Fenris to roll his eyes at me, but he frowned, looking determined, tense and just a hint of desperate.

"They know what I am. Let them come, if they find the courage."

_Look what you've brought on._

"Don't talk like that."

"How?" he snapped, stopping his pacing and glaring at me. "Am I supposed to forget what they've done to me? Am I supposed to forgive, no matter what?"

I swallowed an acid response, stifling a hot wave of rising temper, because for the second time at same day even I could get that some things are not about me.

"Well, first of all, you're are *who*, not *what.*"

Fenris stared at me for long moment and then folded down, like the tense bowstrings holding him were suddenly cut. His chair was already occupied by Rex, so he sat in front of it on the carpet and hid his face in his palm.

I slid down too, settling by his side, and gingerly put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sometimes I think you yourself don't even realize who you are."

He let out an exhausted bitter laugh and, without opening his eyes, tilted his head to press his cheek against my knuckles.

"Perhaps there's just not much to realize."

I ran my thumb gently over his sharp cheekbones and he shifted a little to let me trail his jawline.

_I don't have to be in love just to tell him the facts. It's just honesty. Best policy and all that._

"You're are wonderful," I said softly and his eyes snapped open. "You're brave, smart, honest and just overly amazing moody mess. These markings are the least remarkable thing about you." He made a small half-choked laughing noise and I grinned "I mean it. They're worth nothing compared even to the angsty caterpillars alone."

I brushed his brow slowly and he leaned into my palm, so when he blushed, I could feel the heat rushing under his skin.

"You're too kind."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You constantly risk your life to save complete strangers and give second chances to people who didn't deserve the first ones."

I remembered demon's words, though it still stung, and shrugged with a crooked grin.

"Saving people is a quick deal and I get be heroic. Have you ever saw me drinking with these people afterwards and trying to convince them they're amazing despite them grumping back at me?"

He blushed even brighter and made this embarrassed giggle-masked-by-a-cough noise.

_This is the cutest. Telling him nice things is the most rewarding idea ever._

_Let's tell him more._

_You're drunk._

_Still great idea._

"You're such a sunshine."

"Now this is clearly just the wine talking," he rolled his eyes, but his fingers found my free hand.

"No, it's not," I shook my head stubbornly, squeezing his palm."Remember that day on a beach? When I painted your face with ash?"

He blinked and then realization dawned on him.

"That circle around my eye with lines sticking out of it?" he asked with distrusting voice. "It was the... sun?"

Now it was my turn to blush, but I didn't look away, lifting up a chin.

"Could've figured this out way sooner."

He stared at me for another moment and then laughed, and there were no hints of sadness, just an uncharacteristically unreserved, fondly amused and warm throaty laugh.

_You know what, I've got the next best idea._

I shifted a little, leaned in and put my arms around him. He froze immediately, I could feel his heartbeat speeding up feverishly.

_Okay, maybe this wasn't such a great idea. Maybe I should have explained him a concept of hugs beforehand..._

But when I inched away, Fenris made a small helpless sound and squeezed me so tightly that I lost my breath. He was shivering slightly, fingers clenched in my robe, and I started stroking his back soothingly.

"It's okay. It's gonna be okay," I murmured into his ear, running my hand over sharp knobs on his back. "I'm here. It's all good. Everything will be fine..."

"No, it won't," he rasped stubbornly and I rolled my eyes, but he continued begrudgingly, trying to hide a smile. "But for some reason it still makes me feel better. What kind of magic is that?"

"Very special. To make the usual spell work, you just need to spend a little energy. To make this work, you need to actually care."

He gave up pretending to be grumpy and buried his face in my neck. His warm breath and fluttering of eyelashes against my skin stirred two waves inside of me that previously I considered mutually exclusive - "aw, cute" and "wow, hot". They swirled confusedly until being overlapped by heavy "I'm too tired to do anything right now" tide.

He suddenly tensed.

"How… how soon I'll have to let you go?"

"I'm not in a hurry. And it actually feels awfully nice hugging you, so keep it up as long as you want."

Fenris sighed with content and relaxed. I ran my fingers through the mess of entangled white locks and said quietly into his ear.

"I was worried about you, asshole. Next time go brood somewhere safe."

He laughed softly, and the way low rumble of it felt with me pressed against his chest was the best one in a row of The Most Rewarding Things.

* * *

><p>"You know," he said "I think I'm drunk."<p>

"Wow. Who could've thought that you'll get drunk after drinking wine."

"No, you don't understand," he tried to explain, though his thoughts were irritatingly tangled. "Hadriana used to make me drink a lot of cheap strong alcohol and then gave me challenges that required good precision. Walking through the room with broken glass on the floor, that sort of thing. So I guess I learned to shut it out. I don't go through the whole poor coordination, bad self-control or foggy mind issues. I mean, I don't usually. I think I might right now."

She stiffened in his arms and he realized how it sounded.

"I'm sorry," he said, cringing at himself. "I didn't mean to dampen the mood. Though I suppose today I've done it enough to flood the desert."

"It's okay," she said firmly. "Telling me things is fine. I won't start pitying you, I promise. Except for your taste, but that's the old news."

He just smirked, pulling her closer.

"So, how does it feel, being drunk?"

He shrugged.

"Okay, I suppose. Though being not… in the best coordinated form is a bit unnerving."

"Don't worry, I can still throw fireballs, even drunk. We'll fight off if someone attacks."

Fenris chuckled, his cheek pressed to her hair and eyes closed.

"Why don't you do anything with your house?"

He blinked.

"Did I miss some part of a conversation?"

"No, really, like it's not enough that you're wearing that stupid outfit, but you don't even change anything in your old master's mansion. You keep everything the same. This place is depressing! Of course you're feeling down so often."

"I don't know. I have no idea what to change."

"I have plenty of ideas! Want me to help?"

He hid a grin against her temple.

"Sure."

"Hey, you didn't even ask what ideas I have? You can nitpick my plans for hours even if it's just "let's go to the docks to get beer", but when I ask to redo your whole house, you don't care?"

He grinned wider.

_Just don't let her know that right now she can get away even with finally burning these armor feathers..._

"This mansion has mostly symbolic importance to me. The proof that I could fight Danarius back and re-capture something of his. That I could stop running like a hunted animal and make him ran. I don't particularly care about the state of it. Material things are fleeting, there's no sense in getting invested in them."

"Fenris, it's a three-floor mansion. It's the opposite of *fleeting*."

"So what? I could lose it at any day."

"How, if it doesn't finally crumble because of your negligence?"

"Well, for example, the Templars in this city might get a divine enlightenment that this loud insolent girl who runs around throwing fireballs in a broad daylight, is actually a mage and then she'd have to flee the city."

She grumbled something, half-heartedly pretending to be offended, but her arms tightened around him, she shifted a little on his lap, placing her head on his shoulder and nuzzling at his neck. He stroked her hair gently and she made a sound that wasn't quite it, but distinctly resembled purring.

"Okay then. We'll get to cheering up your house tomorrow."

The warmth ran through his veins, intoxication of both wine and affection. He felt boneless this whole evening, since the moment she took his hand, he wouldn't be able to stir up himself to be on guard and suspicious even if he wanted, and he didn't. This whole day he acted obnoxiously with her, dragged her through the ugliness of slavers' caves, made a scene and lashed out on her, and still she forgave him. He knew deep down that even when he came to her home, it wasn't just for apologizing. He couldn't bear to be alone, looped in his own misery and doubts, and wanted any outlet and distraction he could get. She didn't realize it that night after the Fade, even when he almost pulled her to bed, but he could saw in her eyes that she understood it today. Still, she didn't gave in into his despair, but didn't send him away either. He didn't even think that there's even an option for just being close, for someone just wanting to make him feel better without asking for anything back. For vulnerability not being used as a target. And everything that she said, it was overwhelming even by itself, but to hear it from Hawke, sarcastic and proud as she is...

She was there for him in his moment of weakness and shame, and gave him only kindness and acceptance in return, and now he felt that even she'd decide to turn against him, he wouldn't be able to fight. But this thought wasn't even uncomfortable, it gave him strange light-heartedness instead.

_I guess that's what trust means for me. I'll never be able to eliminate the expectation of danger from someone, but I can accept the possibility of harm and resign myself to it. _

It's better to feel good for at least some time and then fall, then to live the long life of closed tense misery.

_Just please, if you ever decide to take me down, strike me from the back, so I wouldn't know it was you._

He didn't say it, though, because as drunk and inexperienced in relationships as he was, he was pretty sure _that _would go over like a lead dragon.

He didn't feel just drunk, though, he thought, listening to himself. He couldn't grasp what was so strange for about a minute, but then he realized he just felt so… alive. There was an overload of simple small sensations from all directions. All his life he wasn't just shutting out drunkenness, he was shutting out pretty much everything. There wasn't anything that he'd want to feel fully when he was a slave, and when he was on the run, he had to be functional despite hunger and lack of sleep. His body was always a tool to be used, sometimes by others, a set of parts that required maintenance and had limits that he had to account for. He liked fighting because it was only time he felt alive and _whole_, it pulled every one of his senses on edge, even pain was less of a sensation and more of a signal, connection with himself, grounding him in reality. It wasn't like that now, though. In combat, it was more of a hyper-awareness, crisp-clear picture of the whole battlefield and momentarily evaluation of risks and options. His own conditions were just another factors to count in. So, tiredness just meant that he was slower and less precise, but he was still in control and could calculate how much of a resource he had before he'll fall down. Now tiredness ringed in his every muscle, he could feel every part of himself, but the problem was that all of it felt raw, sore and sleepy. There was also none of the clarity, everything around was a mess, focus shifted from one sensation to another, his back itched, his legs ached, bruises on his ribs pulsed annoyingly. Still, he'd wanted to know how it'd be if he wasn't feeling like a pile of waste.

The mage shifted in his arms and murmured something almost inaudibly.

"Hawke?"

There was no answer, so he carefully moved fallen locks away from her face and groaned under his breath. She was sleeping.

_Of course, what did you expect after you get her tired, drunk and then silently brood for half-an-hour._

He sighed and ran his fingers gently over soft waves of Hawke's hair. There was dust and streaks of blood, and he felt a sharp pang of guilt. He didn't want to move and really didn't want to let her go, but he couldn't let her sleep so uncomfortably. But he still felt dizzy and things around tried to start swirling from time to time, so getting her to bed could be not that easy task.

He hooked an arm under her knees and another one around her shoulders and stilled himself.

_I am one of the strongest warriors in the Imperium. I'm capable. I can do this._

He took a deep breath and sprung himself up. The room viciously spinned around and he'd fall back over his head if it wasn't for his sense of natural balance and an armchair, conveniently backing him up.

_I am never getting drunk with her again not in the general proximity of the bed._

He cringed at his mental phrasing. His subconsciousness tried to set him up the whole evening.

Hawke stirred a bit without waking up, and curled more into his chest. Her mabari, woken up by the commotion, sat up and looked at Fenris with a questioning uncertainty, as if deciding whether to trust him with carrying the mage or not.

"I would die for her," the elf told him. Rex still didn't look convinced.

"She weighs less than the battle-hammer I once had, and I killed an ogre with it, with a concussion and a broken shoulder."

The dog made a short warning half-bark.

"No, I'm not going to treat her like a hammer."

Rex studied him for another moment, but then made a theatrical sigh and strode to the door, opening it. Fenris took a deep breath and tried to follow.

He managed to dodge a couple of treacherous chairs, but got a strike to the hip from a corner of an apparently vile table, when finally he faced his toughest challenge yet. The door.

The doorway looked too narrow for the amplitude of Fenris' occasional swaying at the moment.

He turned his side to the path, so Hawke's head would go first, and started walking very slowly, trying to keep as much space as possible between her and the wall. His shoulders scrapped the doorframe, but otherwise he succeed. He breathed out, smiled and prepared to battle the next door, when he heard a quiet, but firm growl behind his back and realized he was heading to the exit of the estate.

_Yeah, waking up in the abandoned mansion would teach her what being kind to the desperate men will bring._

"I'm sorry," he said to mabari, turning around. "I'm not trying to kidnap your mistress, I swear."

Rex sized him up with a suspicious glare, but then went up the stairs. Fenris followed, relieved that he has someone to show him the way, because he had no idea where Hawke's room is.

His lack of planning almost condemned him to failure - stairs were even more foul than doorway. He swayed and started falling back, so he staggered sideways and bounced off the hand-rails. He had to turn abruptly to get Hawke out of the way and slammed with his back flat against the wall.

"Vishante kaffas!"

He stood still for a couple of moments, waiting for the world to stop swirling and cradling Hawke closer. Fenris pulled himself together and started ascending slowly, one step and swearing at time. Then he walked through another door, opened by a reproachfully looking mabari, but this time he didn't even scratched his shoulders.

It was dark in her room, but he could make out a big bed. He almost got his head entangled in the canopy - _why people even put it over beds? what is the purpose of this thing other than to annoy?_ - but eventually managed to lay her down, making sure to put her head on the pillow and not headboard. Then there was a vague stray memory about her saying that she kicks the blankets off all the time and gets cold, so Fenris tried to tuck the blankets around her as best as he could until he was pretty much out of the breath.

He lingered for a moment, fighting with an impulse to just fall asleep right there by her side, and stroked her cheekbones softly, tugging stray locks behind her ear. Hawke stretched up and said, without waking up and with a surprisingly clear firm voice.

"Carver, if you try to mess with my hair, I'll nail your nose to the dinner table."

Fenris smirked and left, managing to successfully dodge the doorframe.

"Are you already leaving?"

He started, almost jumping at the soft voice. Hawke's mother stood near the stairwell in long robes of deep carmine red with her house's gold sigil, watching him with ironical look in cold blue eyes.

Fenris squelched initial reflexive response of "Nothing happened!", though he could do nothing to stop the mortified blushing.

"Yes," he said as calmly as he could and straightened up, trying to look dignified and not as if caught at the crime scene. "Please forgive me for overstaying for too long."

"Oh, but you don't have to go. It's already middle of the night, it's no good roaming the streets at that time! You can sleep in the guest quarters," there was an almost uncatchable pause, "for now."

Fenris made sure his face kept same neutrally polite expression, even if he blushed harder.

_Is she doing it on purpose or am I just paranoid?_

This is the woman who walked on Hawke sleeping on his shoulder on the steps of their estate on the last Satinalia and said "Get inside, there are probably already rumors that I kicked my daughter out for the forbidden love." She is _absolutely _doing it on purpose.

"Thank you for your kind offer, but there's no need for you to trouble yourself," he said and started walking down the stairs, carefully and trying to not sway.

"Nonsense! It'd be no trouble at all," another barely recognizable pause. "And Erica will be thrilled in the morning."

_This woman doesn't need a spell to make people blow up from the embarrassment._

"I live just nearby and I could use a short walk right now. But thank you again for your hospitality."

He wished he could walk faster, but not swaying required slow careful steps.

"Ah, well, aren't you just as stubborn as my daughter. But for someone who works with her and lives nearby, it's a shame you never visit. Erica told me so much about you."

"I suspect most of it was extremely unflattering."

"In a first couple of months, perhaps", she chuckled and then after another small pause asked innocently. "So you're from Minrathos, I gather?"

He raised eyebrows, but nodded.

"I've lived here."

_Maybe Hawke had told her…_

"You have a very nice metropolitan accent."

It took him a second, before he stumbled, his eyes widening.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't..."

"Oh, it's okay. You couldn't predict… the acoustics of our hall. Also, it was nice to hear some swearings in Arcanum. Reminded me of my youth. I also learned a bit today!"

Fenris was pretty sure at this point even his marking already turned red. He stilled himself anyway and tried to change the subject nonchalantly.

"So, you know the Arcanum?"

"Of course. I had an appropriate noble upbringing. My children never learned it though. I tried to teach them, but Erica never cared for languages, and anything that she neglected was automatically counted as useless by twins," she sighed, but then smiled, just a subtle hint of mischievousness gleaming through. "Perhaps you could teach her sometimes."

He smirked.

"I don't think that I can interest her in that if she had already set her mind to neglecting it."

"Oh, I believe there's quite a lot of things that you can interest her in, even if I couldn't."

_Okay, I've walked into this one myself…_

Thankfully, he already reached the estate's door.

"I wanted to thank you," she said, and Fenris braced himself, because he came to dread these little pauses, but she continued without any hint of mocking. "For helping to keep my daughter safe. My husband always said that it's crucial for a mage to have a fighter nearby who would draw the heat away. Obviously I'm still worried every time Erica leaves for her work, but I'm feeling a little better knowing that someone with your skill is there for her."

He shrugged, clearing his throat and looking away.

"There's no need to thank me. I owe her a debt. Without her, I most likely wouldn't free or even alive now."

"You followed her into the Deep Roads, a place, which I know from Malcolm, can cost more than just freedom or… life."

Fenris remembered the weightless warmth of sunlight spreading over him even when he was half-chewed by a dragon, that didn't left ever since.

He finally met her eyes, sharp and searching - he tried to imagine Hawke with cold blue look and couldn't.

"I don't need to be thanked for finally having something worth risking my life for."

She kept his gaze for a moment and then for the first time he saw her eyes warming up for just a tone.

"It was so nice to finally talk to you properly," she said with a smile without her usual ironical veil. "Please do visit as sometimes."

"The pleasure is all mine," despite his state, he managed a short formal bow, and she accepted it with a regal nod, watching him leave with a light heart.

_You must rely on love once in a while_  
><em>To give you reason<em>  
><em>You must rely on me once in a while<em>  
><em>To give you a reason<em>

* * *

><p>AN: there *was* a wall-slamming as I promised ;P


	17. Just a little late, you found me

_A/N: hey guys, sorry for terrible delay, I was on vacation and also real life happened. Thank you so much for feedback, it's you who don't let me give up on this fic at all:) Also, I needed to re-direct petty bickerness between these two somewhere, so I've a wrote a chapter of a casino-heist AU, check it out if you want! P.S. - I've got a couple of "Is there gonna be sex or not" messages, and guys, relax, it _is_ in the narrative, though I don't think it's gonna be descriptive (my English is terrible as it is, no need for more awkwardness)_

* * *

><p><em>But in the end everyone ends up alone<em>  
><em>Losing her, the only one who's ever known<em>  
><em>Who I am, who I'm not and who I wanna to be<em>  
><em>No way to know how long she will be next to me<em>

I was nursing a hangover, slumped over the breakfast, when Mom dropped to the chair across the table, beaming like a little girl who just got a pony.

"What?" I asked sourly. I know her. It can't be anything good.

"Well, first of all, good morning! Where are your manners, young lady?"

I groaned, stuffed my mouth and started to chew in the most unladylike way I could manage.

"Well, this looks particularly unbecoming on you since your suitor has commendable manners..."

I almost choked.

"You met Fenris?!"

"Yes indeed! And even if he's about as stubborn as you are - I tried to convince him to wait in the living room, but he wouldn't leave that bench no matter what, - but at least he was exquisitely polite about it."

I relaxed a bit. Right, they had to meet when he was waiting for me. Couldn't be that bad, I guess.

"...But of course, real character shows better when the person is drunk... "

_Oh no…_

"It was a _delight_," she concluded, her glowing transcending over "little girl gets a pony" level into "Merrill sells her soul to a demon for a baby griffon".

I moaned and hid my face in my arms, folded over the table.

"How did you even manage to catch him? Did you wait all that time, without going to sleep, just to ambush him?"

"Well, excuse me, I've been woken up by the sounds of something blunt hitting the walls in my hall, followed by obscenities in Arcanum, and you expect me to _not_ go investigate? As if drunk men carrying my unconscious daughter is none of my business?"

I just buried my face deeper and covered my head.

"I was worried at first, I mean the lad was swaying harder than hips of a Rivaini bellydancer, but I kept silent because I figured if I spook him, he'll drop you _definitely_. But no, he managed surprisingly fine, didn't even hit your head or something. I was impressed. Hey, are you planning to lift your head and finally look at me properly?"

"Not in the next decade."

"Our conversation with a young man was a long due. Wait, is it a correct thing to say? Should it be 'young elf'? Anyway, how old is he? Hard to tell with elves, could easily be 25 or 45."

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? He's been around for three years now, he risks his life for you about 5 days a week, and you've never bothered to find out his age? Well, forget the romance, that's just straight up impolite for..."

"Maker's breath, Mom! I don't know it because _he _doesn't know it! I told you, he doesn't remember anything before he received the markings!"

"Oh, right. Hmmm, I'd say a couple of years older than you then. There's still this boyish adorableness when he's blushing."

"Mom, what did you do?!"

"What? It's your fault. You've never introduced to me any of people you dated. I had pent up curiosity gathering since you were a teen. And it's not like I said something terrible. After all, if I have a right to embarrass someone, it's a certainly a man sleeping with my daughter."

"Maker's breath, we haven't even kissed!"

"What? Why? Do you not know how? Darling, you should've asked me long ago, that's what motherly advice is for."

"Jeez, I'm glad I've got "the birds and the bees" talk from Dad and not from you."

"Nhuh, perhaps I should've insisted it'd be me. Then maybe your brother wouldn't join the Order with chastity vows and you knew that "sleeping" with someone doesn't mean actually passing out in their arms."

"Stop it, Mom! It's just… You know, he was a slave, right? And the magister that had him was the nastiest piece of shit, kept him on the collar and everything. So, well, Fenris has… an intimacy issues."

"Maker's breath, poor darling! Then be patient and don't force it."

"Garh, I just said that we didn't even kiss!"

"I know you, you have no patience or sense of subtlety."

I groaned and rolled my eyes.

"Alright, alright, let's get to the interesting part. The lad is head over heels in love with you."

"Oh, _please_, Mom."

"Oh please yourself! I know what I'm talking about. He had the biggest dreamy smile on his face when he was leaving your room. And it was the "Thinking up names for the firstborn", not the "I just got to grop boobs" kind of dreamy."

"Mom!"

"And from what he said..."

"Andraste's ass, did you _ask _him?!"

"Of course not! Who am I, a foul-mouthed buffoon like you? I was raised in nobility, I know how to arrange a marriage without ever naming the subject. Don't worry, I didn't. I _can _though, if you wish."

"What are _you _so excited about? I thought you want me to marry some noble prick. Isn't Fenris a bit… improper?"

She sighed.

"You are my daughter, you think I don't know you? You're a stubborn and free-spirited idealist, like your father was, but you have much less of a common sense. I never expected you to choose anyone respectable. Frankly, I was bracing myself for an apostate mage."

"But you tried to set me up with the Seneschal's son!"

"To shock you into finally making some decisions!"

I groaned and waved my hand dismissively.

"Anyway. It doesn't matter. I'm not in love with Fenris, so whatever."

"Ah. I suppose this conversation was coming up a long time," she sighed, steepled her fingers and looked at me over them. "And what is your criteria of being in love?"

I just stared at her, dumbstruck.

"What do you mean?"

"How are you planing to find out that you _are _in fact in love when it happens?"

"Um, well, it's just kinda… happens, right? I mean, it's gonna be big and bright and striking, so you just know instantly, I suppose?.."

Mom sighed and started rubbing her temples.

"So you think that you'll just meet someone and immediately got hit with a giant sign with "True Love" written over it?"

"What? Isn't it how it happened with you and Dad?"

"But it doesn't mean it's the only way it can happen. Besides, we're different people. What worked for us shouldn't necessarily be an etalon for you."

"Even so, he's absolutely not how I imagined my ideal!"

"Okay, then how did you imagine it?"

"Well, light-hearted but principled, easy-going, but smart, charming, kind, free-spirited..."

"Wait, wait, wait," Mom held up her hands, "Erica, I'd honestly accept just about anyone you'll choose aside from an actual barbarian, but you _really _don't need a relationship with a mirror version of yourself."

"What? No! It's not mirror, it's… I mean… Ugh."

"Darling, please understand that I'm not trying to convince you to marry this boy. I just don't want you to limit yourself because of false conceptions you got from fairytales and your overly romantic father. And I want to be sure there's someone who'll follow you through fire even if you started it yourself. There's no rush, but just think about it, okay?"

"Yeah, I guess..." I muttered sourly. and got up. "I've gotta go, Fenris is waiting… Andraste's firebreathing bellybutton, don't wiggle your brows, Mom, you're ridiculous!"

* * *

><p><em>Yahaha and a bottle of rum! Varric, where's my money? <em>_I know from a reliable source that the elf went to Hawke's estate last night!_

_I'm sorry, who's the information broker here again? If you source was actually reliable, you'd knew that they spent the entirety of three minutes together in bedroom, all of which Hawke was unconscious._

_Aw, whaaat?_

_Apparently they were getting drunk for half of the night in the library, then he carried her to the bed and left._

_You bribed her dwarf, didn't you._

_Dude almost threw himself at me._

_But really, at this point I'm almost convinced Hawke is stalling this just to prevent me from getting my money._

_Your money? You think after three years this bet still includes only you and me?_

_Okay, what are the other bets?_

_I have all quotes right there. Let's see..._

"_Why do they have to compete? It'd be much nicer if everyone was happy." - Merrill_.

_A treesome suggestion? That's my girl!_

"_I don't know, she'll probably sleep with both, and then marry the prince, forge an empire and get a religion founded."_

_Oh, little Carver, bitter as always._

"_One thing I know for sure - eventually they'll force me to arrest all of them!"_

_Aveline, our expert in the intricacies of romance._

"_You mean she and Fenris aren't married? That's nice, it means we'll have free snacks and booze on the wedding to look forward to!" - Donnic._

_You might not wanna hold your breath for that one, mate._

"_I don't think it's appropriate to gossip about our friends."_

_I think Chantry Boy has hots for both Hawke __**and **__the elf, and just tries to not show it._

_I still can't figure out his dirty secret. Dressing up as Andraste? Oggling nuns? There's gotta be something!_

* * *

><p>Fenris was leaning on the doorway of his mansion in one of his lazily graceful poses, which was severely undermined by the fact that he was wearing an ugly brown shirt that was too small for him, so it was crunched around his shoulders and awkwardly short on sleeves, and grey pants that were way too big and went up to his chest, where they were tied up with a piece of rope. Overall he looked like a dramatic actor, playing a prince in costumes donated by a family of beggars.<p>

"Okay, what point did you want to make - that there's something uglier than your usual clothes or that you can make a potato sack look good?"

"And which of these I actually managed to prove?" he raised an eyebrow with a lopsided smirk and I grinned back.

"Both."

He gave me chuckle-covering-cough just as I expected.

"So, just a while ago some dwarf came by with a cart and dropped off a small hoard of paint jars, claiming it's on your behalf. I figured I need to wear something I wouldn't mind ruined."

"Oh no, my plan to get rid of the ugly feathers failed again."

I walked into his hall to the pile of jars in the middle of it, crouched down and started unscrewing them. Fenris shuffled uncomfortably on his feet next to me.

"It looks like it must cost a lot."

"Nah, it didn't cost anything."

More shuffling and interrogative humming.

"Remember how shortly after we got back from the Deep Roads we boarded an Antiva pirate ship?"

"When you and Isabela were singing and competing at who can hit their Captain's head with a bottle of rum?"

"Somehow you sound disapproving."

"And you put a toy parrot at your shoulder, spoke in croaked voice the whole day and then you set this thing on fire and made it fly at enemies."

"One of my finest moments."

He rolled his eyes and I stuck my tongue at him.

"Anyway, all goods that we... confiscated from the pirates I gave to a local merchant. Lots of Orlesian silks, Tevinter spice, Antivan poison. In return, he provided all materials for our estate repairs and decoration. But it still wasn't even, so he still owes me, hence these are for free."

"I see," he still sounded a bit unconvinced, so I changed the subject before he goes into loops of crippling self-doubt.

"Are these pants enchanted? Because I can't see any other reason why you'd put it on."

"The shirt was too short so I chose them to compensate for it. What's wrong with them?"

I rolled my eyes.

_And that's whole Fenris in this. Thoughtful and practical in some things and completely blind to the others._

"You need something to cover your head, if you don't want to switch from white hair to rainbow."

"I suppose I can find some rags..."

"Ugh, wait," I rolled my eyes and searched in my pockets, because he really could put a potato sack on his head with his level of not-caring.

I took out two red silken scarves from my pouch.

"These seem to be quite expensive..."

"We have a _hoard _of these. Mom ordered enough to go through one a day and still be set for the next ten years."

"Is it your crest on them?"

"Yeah," I rolled my eyes, embarrassed. "Mom said it's a dishonor to be seen even blowing your nose into something without your family coat of arms, so...anyway, I haven't blown my nose into these ones yet, so come on!"

I expected him to argue - I remember how he made a scene when I offered him to put my emblem on his purse to get it back if it's stolen, but he just kneeled by my side without a word. There was a moment of hesitation on both sides, and when he wasn't handed the scarf, Fenris lowered his head in my direction.

"Okay, do you want ears covered or not?" I asked busily, folding the scarf and pretending that's exactly what was supposed to happen.

"No."

"Don't blame me then when you get purple ears."

"I'm sure you'll find it immensely entertaining."

I bit my lip and ran my fingers through his hair, trying to slick them back. There was a barely noticeable moment of tension, like a flinch that was caught before it could show, and then Fenris leaned into a touch, still tense and cautious, hiding his eyes and with tightened jaw. I kept stroking his hair, very slowly and softly, babbling some nonsense about colors that would cheer up this house, and he relaxed, finally glancing up at me, with shy, but unmistakable pleasure.

It would stung my pride to see him still freezing at my touch like I'm a threat, but I remembered how desperately tight his arms were around me yesterday's night, how grateful and breathlessly helpless was his laughter against my skin. But trust was a deliberate choice he had to make every time, a challenge he had to push himself through. Seeing the effort he had to put into it, it was amazing he's even trying.

"You're very brave."

He blinked and stared at me in silent surprise, raising his eyebrow.

"Trusting me with re-designing your mansion. And well, just on a general basis."

He shrugged with lopsided grin, still looking at me with surprise. Generally, it wasn't easy to get that look from Fenris - you throw abominations, monsters and other unspeakable horrors at him and all he does is look vaguely irritated or mildly disgusted. But tell him something remotely nice and _that's_ suddenly a wonder he never saw coming.

"Do you mind if I blow it back with a spell?" I said, partly to let him not deal with the terrible matter of compliments, and partly because while running fingers through his hair felt nice, but it was about as effective as trying to fit a haystack into a vase.

"Like that time in the caves? _No_."

"Aw, come on, it wasn't that bad!"

He sighed, combed his fingers through his hair, pinning it back and down with careless harshness, and nodded at me. I put a scarf around his head and he slid his hands off. His mane mostly stayed inside, except few stray locks. I tied a scarf and softly tucked them in. Fenris half-closed his eyelids and muttered quietly.

"It's not brave since I'm not really risking anything. I told you, I don't really care for the state of this mansion. I won't be upset even if your results are... not the most beautiful design imaginable."

"Hey, but if you're already think it's gonna be horrible, why are you letting me do this? You just don't care if I do it all?"

His eyes snapped open and got this deep intense focus that locked the rest of the world out.

"I care that you're willing to put this much effort in something just for me."

Something yanked behind my collarbones, stealing my breath and leaving a bittersweet taste in my mouth.

"Fenris, that's a terrible attitude," I said cheerfully, putting on a grin. "It leads to eating half-roasted cookies just because someone made them for you."

He shrugged and looked down, his grin struggling to be nonchalant, but actually betraying an almost sad wistfulness.

That's just not fair. Some assholes have everything from the start and don't appreciate it, and Fenris, who went through life that sounds more like a nightmare, is scrambling for the scraps of warmth and…

"Okay, let's go!" I shot up to my my feet and dragged him by the wrist "We have too much space to ruin and not nearly enough time!"

Okay, if that's the effort that counts here, I'm the gal for the job, I have tons of energy and I never half-ass things, because I'm a complete ass all the damn time.

* * *

><p>Fenris wasn't used to having good time, he had good moments, sure, but they were rare and short, just few minutes caught unexpectedly between surviving and being on guard or acquiring resources, when he'd stopped to catch his breath noticed that the world around him is beautiful. His memory was sealing these moments like they were treasure to collect and shift through, like running fingers through a handful of pearls.<p>

And only comparing these moments to the time he spent around Hawke, radiant, glowing like embers, like her eyes, made him realize that anyone else would count the minutes he treasured as moments of despair.

She got to his main hall first. Now on both walls alongside the stairwell there were vaguely rounded shapes in deep green tones with occasional brown stripes ("_It's an Enchanted Forest!" "Because I just need more magic and monsters in my life." "Can you __**not**__, Fenris? For like five minutes? As a grand romantic gesture, just for me?" "I think I'll manage six."_)

There were also randomly scattered creatures, from which he only recognized dragons. There also were horses with human torsos (_"It's centaures." "Are there are inverted versions? With, you know, human bodies and horse heads?" "No, there's only that one jerk with a donkey's head. His name is Fenris."_), women with long scaly tails instead of legs (_"Mermaids!" "What is fish doing in the forest?" "Waiting for you to ask."_), flocks of mabari puppies with red fur and wings (_"Okay, these I made up. But isn't it the best idea __**ever**__?_"), something that looked like random compilation of different body parts of lion, snake and goat (_"It's chimera." "Do they just throw random animals together and mix it like a salad?" "Kinda, but it should be scary animals." "It has a goat's head." "Yeah, because goats headbutt worse than ogres! Dude, I lived in a village, I know what I'm talking about!" "Really?" "Ogre will smash you into a wall, but goat will stick it's horns below the belt." "Point taken."_)

She didn't name feline creatures with bird's heads and wings, so he nodded at them questioningly.

"And these?"

Hawke turned to him and stared with open mouth and disbelief in rounded eyes.

"Are you kidding me? It's griffons!"

"Um, okay then." She continued to glare at him and he added conciliatory. "They're nice."

"Nice? You don't know what griffons are? You spent three years around someone whose cousin is Commander of the Grey who motherfucking stopped the Blight, and you don't know what griffons are?!"

"I had a few more pressing matters at hand."

"Aw don't give me that crap, it's been literally ages since we started to hang out! You had all the time to ask."

Fenris snapped down the defensive answer in the last moment, because deep down he knew she was right about something. He _did _love hearing her talk about things she was excited about, but he rarely asked her to, because certainty that he had no one would care sharing with him was still engraved in his mind.

"Hey..."

He looked up to see Hawke standing next to him, and she reached out for him, but halted, changing the angle in the last moment, and trailed alongside his arm with the back of her hand, and this feather-light touch caused an avalanche of shivers to run through him. "Sorry for overreacting. I shouldn't have started yelling like you just pissed on the grave of my grandma."

He smirked.

"Well, after my own scenes, you get at least a couple of free minor overreactions like now."

Hawke gave him a lopsided grin.

"Do I get to throw bottles at stuff?"

_She smelled like summer, dry heat of a hazy noon, full of blooming herbs and warm. There was a moment of summer caught in one the pearls of his memory, a field of sunflowers in Orlais. Thick stems grew high and could cover Fenris even when he was standing, and lazy silence of a hot windless day, just bird's careless chirping and low hum of beetles, would let him hear anyone approaching from far away. It was as not dangerous as it could get for him now, and he killed the hunters just the last night, and now he had some time before the next group will be sent. So he just sat there, thoughtless, purposeless and too tired to care, watching huge bright yellow flowers slowly turn after the sun in the high cobalt skies. He was there for quite a while, a lacy pattern of shadows from sunflowers' leaves moving over him, and it was supposed to be relaxing, but instead, a gnawing discomfort grew inside of him. He felt so alien, so __out of place __in this perfect pastoral picture, a spot of rough deformed darkness, all bitter steel and jagged scars, a scorched useless ruin in the middle of beauty, joy and peace. _

"Only the finest wine for you," he forced himself to smile and Hawke chuckled and strode back to the wall, cheerful and bright, a sparkly flame in the shadows of the dim room.

"Before you tell me everything that is here to know about griffons..." she perked up, grinning excitedly, and he wished that humanity produced enough stories about griffons to last them a year.

"I wanted to ask… Is there such thing as firebirds?"

She stopped at her tracks, staring at him with eyes wide open in surprise and faint blush covering her cheeks slowly.

"Yeah… there is." She obviously tried to keep her tone nonchalant and just as obviously failed, her voice quivering a little. It sounded like something personal was grazed, but it didn't seem to be in a bad way, so he followed it.

"We need few of them on the walls."

She smiled at him, slow and wide, her eyes lightening up like glowing embers.

She was like summer, but not one of those he lived through. She was the summer how it was supposed to be, a perfect noon, sunflowers blooming into the endless azure sky, where there's no place for charred ruins.

* * *

><p>They painted over furniture in most of the rooms, because he knew he'll never use or sell any of it, so now most of the mansion looked like theatrical decorations of a comedy troupe. Right now they stood in the middle of a big hall that Hawke named "ballroom", so it was now velvet red and gold, with curtains painted all over the walls (<em>"It's not a ballroom if there aren't enough curtains for every pair of guests to get privacy. Otherwise it'll turn into a giant orgy and that's just uncivilized."<em>) Also, there were bows of all types everywhere (_"Bows are all the rage right now, don't even argue with me on this."_)

They stood in the middle of the room, practicing mocking courtesy in overly flourish orlesian style, and managed to get their hands glued together, because they were covered in paint.

They had to stumble through mansion in searches of oil to unglue themselves, and it wasn't made easier by the fact that it were their right hands that got stuck. Also it meant that one of them had to be walking backwards. Fenris led the way nominally, because only he knew where they were going, but Hawke's nature couldn't let her to just accept being not in charge of _anything_, so she fidgeted, tugged, tried to look over her shoulder which almost made them spin around and generally made already awkward walk at least three times more difficult.

"Can you stop jumping around like a sparrow on a grill?"

"Well, that's flattering! Poetic, even. Aren't you as great at complimenting women as leading the way!"

"If you're so capable, why don't you just _un-magic_ this?"

She gave him an incredulous glare over her shoulder and almost tripped. He struggled to keep a serious face.

"If magic was actually useful, you'd be able to do this."

She tried to kick him and he dodged.

"I suppose years of missing the hit you could excuse as "bad luck" or some other delusion, but failing this when we're actually _glued_ together..."

She let out a short battle yell and slammed into him with her whole body. An unexpected push forced him out of already awkward balance and he stumbled, cracking his head against the wall.

"Maker's teeth gap, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"It's nothing."

It _was _nothing, even less than nothing for how he turned so spoiled in these years with Hawke. Injures that before were threat for his survival became temporary annoyances, he got used to wounds mending after just couple of minutes, and if it didn't happen, it probably meant Hawke's too busy being cornered.

"Yeah, well, I know you, a freaking concussion is 'nothing' in your book, so… what's so funny?"

He tried and failed to fight a smile, looking into her concerned eyes, bright amber speckled with gold, and she was so close, still pressed against him, he could feel her warm breath.

_The autumn in Antiva is warm and sunny, kaleidoscope of orange and yellow, and a lot of bright flowers are still in the late blooming. He's on the meadow by the forest's spring, and there's wild strawberry in the soft grass all around him. His right wrist is fractured from the unfortunate falling from the tavern's second floor, his ankle is sprained, he's tired out of his mind and he hadn't ate anything for day and a half and he's covered in dirt, dust and blood. He awkwardly picks berries with his left hand - three nails are ripped off and he can't even recall when it happened - and they're so impossibly sweet, but there's also metalic taste of blood and dust in his mouth. He tries to focus on sweetness and not think about what will happen if hunters find him, when he's unable to run, and though he has one-handed sword too, he can't imagine fighting off several attackers with only left hand. But there's nothing he can do right now, so he focuses on sweet taste and beautiful view around him and deep vibrant smells of forest and not seeing his own bloodied expression in the waters of the clean spring. _

"It's no..."

"Fenris, if you say "nothing", I will kick you and I _will not _heal it."

He wants to kiss her so badly, it's a constant pull, hungry, aching and selfish, but all of his memories, even what he considers good ones, reek of hidden fear and pain, and he can't bring it to her, it feels like tainting her joy with bitterness, like feeding clear flame with damp rotten logs. He knows it's irrational, downright ridiculous, but it freezes him every time, crawls under his skin, and his smile is forced.

"Nose. You have paint there."

She eyed him suspiciously, but it's technically not a lie. He never lied to her, even if "not telling the truth" and "lying" are not the same things and "not telling the whole truth" is his permanent condition.

"Well, you have paint all over your face!"

"Because you splashed it on me."

"Because you said that bows are stupid."

"I didn't say stupid. I said incongruous."

"That's _worse_! Where did you even get that word, do you read thesaurus for fun?"

* * *

><p>Hawke said that "this bullshit torn up doodle" had no right to hang in the center of the hall, right above the stairs. She left the golden frame, but got rid of the painting. (<em>"It's a place for something <em>_**epic**__, dude. And nobody can do epic better than me. Well, maybe my cousin can, but he can't draw for shit._") So Fenris stood still and held a ladder for her, and he was pretty sure she only made him do it so he couldn't see what she's painting. He was mentally bracing himself for griffons, mabari or obscenities - or possibly all of those. He waited patiently until she finished and climbed down.

"Don't look yet! In the name of Andraste's gills, don't!"

"What? Andraste doesn't… You are ridiculous."

She finally straightened up near him, grinning.

"Yeah, but while you were startled by this ridiculousness, you didn't look at the wall, so mission accomplished."

He rolled his eyes and then she coughed, wiping her palms on her thighs and looking somewhat flushed, which from someone less self-confident he'd read as nervousness.

"So, um, now you can look."

He looked up, a sceptical grin already on his face, but it froze when he actually took in a sight on the wall. The drawing was crude, since Hawke was restricted by a uncomfortable position, and looked almost like a stick figure, but it was covered in spikes and had a white ruffled mess on it's head. It stood on top of a pile of what he recognized as dead dragons and had a giant sword stuck in the head of one of them.

"Hey, so what do you think? I thought that it's kinda dumb that there all these portraits of these old creeps hanging on the walls, I mean, that's _your _mansion after all. But yeah, I know it's ugly, so if you don't like it, we'll paint it over, no hard feelings, and..."

He reached out, slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, hiding his face in her hair. She tensed for a moment, but then relaxed and put her arm around his waist, leaning into him.

"So you like it after all, I take it?"

He hummed something vague, still unable to look at the wall and not trusting himself to speak.

"I can _feel _you blushing against my skin."

It'd take only slight turning of his head to catch this soft laughter on her lips, but even their embrace was burning him. The feeling of unworthiness crawled through his bones, gnawing and sour and _deserved_, flames dancing under his closed eyelids, fire of people who saved his life and fought for his freedom, fire that claimed their bodies after he killed them.

He couldn't bring himself to move, but he couldn't let Hawke go too, so he cleared his throat and rasped without lifting his head.

"Is my nose really so beaky?"

"Um, nope, not really, but tip is kinda going a bit downwards, so I tried to capture this. You have a really difficult nose, you know."

Fenris laughed, bit his lip and buried his difficult nose in her temple.

* * *

><p>The paint stopped dripping from the ceiling of his room by the night, and we sat there on the floor, me leaning against the fireplace - perks of being a fire mage, - and Fenris in front of me, his back against his favorite chair. We've been passing the bottle between us for some time, and Fenris went from awkward and wistful smile to the grin that was just few steps short of suggestive.<p>

When he said "Care to hear the story?", leaning forward with a reckless smirk, I noted feverish gleaming in his eyes, but didn't think much of it. But as he spoke, about Seheron and the Qunari attack, the tension underneath the calm surface was becoming apparent. There was steel in his eyes, not the usual guarding shields, but something vulnerable and silently pained, like glimpses of knives tearing the forest's leaves. I felt uneasiness and a distinct worry coiling up inside of me, and when he chuckled with grim dark irony at the memory of Danarius being forced to abandon him, I didn't even smirk back.

When he started talking about Fog Warriors, even pretense of light-heartedness vanished from his voice. I couldn't even tell what was worse - how desperately he tried to keep his voice flat or how hopelessly he failed.

"I'd grown fond of the rebels. They bowed to no master and fought for their freedom. It was... beyond my experience. When Danarius come, they refused to let him take me."

Fenris lowered his head and squared shoulders, looking down, as if trying to curl up and hide for a moment, and then took a long sip from the bottle, before he visibly forced himself to straighten up and look me in the eyes.

"He ordered me to kill them. So I did. I killed them all."

He closed his eyes, not even trying to hide a pained grimace, and his voice shuttered, and, damn, it hurt, quick and sharp as a knife cut, and I almost thoughtlessly bolted up to sit by his side and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Fenris, that's… I'm so sorry."

He let out breath I didn't realize he was holding and still didn't meet my eyes, but he took my hand, carefully, like it could break, and hid in his palms.

"It felt inevitable. My master has returned and this... this fantasy life was over."

I felt so fucking angry, even when we couldn't talk for five minutes without going into shouting match, I respected him because he wouldn't back out of the argument if he thought he's right even he was alone against people whose help he needed for survival. And that someone so proud, brilliant, maddeningly stubborn was reduced into a mere shell of himself, was twisted so badly, and Maker's breath, he's probably not "himself" even now, not really, maybe never will...

He drew in a sharp breath and finally looked up at me, his fingers tensing on my hand and his eyes brittle.

"But once it was done, I looked down at their bodies. I felt... I couldn't..."

His voice broke painfully and he turned his head away.

"I ran. And never looked back."

I threaded our fingers and felt how his hand trembled just a little, and fuck, this helplessness was killing me. I almost wanted to make him stop, but I knew he needed to let it out, so I let him talk, his voice leveled, but his eyes dim. I was running my fingers over his in the lightest caress, and yeah, I know he doesn't need to be coddled, I know he lived through shit that would crash others, I know he can take worse and I know he can don an armor of silver shards and lightening. But there are tired lines on his face, deep shadows under his eyes, and when he calls himself "unworthy", it rings too raw and present, because "It did not occur to me that I could be anything else until I had a taste of it" sounds too wistful and sad in his quiet voice, so fuck it, he deserves the softest touch, just so he could remember what it means to _feel _something and not endure.

"I have never spoken about what happened to anyone. I've never wanted to," he said slowly, there's honesty and slight surprise in his voice, and the faintest hint of smile in his eyes. We were sitting shoulder to shoulder, and his head is tilted slightly to me and pressed back against the chair, which left his arched throat bared, and that's ten times more unusual for him than laughing or even not arguing with me. And that's when I finally figured out this breathless feeling that wrapped knots in my chest. Tenderness, which is even more weird for me to show outside of the family than vulnerability for him.

"Perhaps this is what it means to have a friend."

And then there was finally a real smile, elusive and ready to shy away, but it's the spring sun glimpsing through the leaves now, not knives.

"Perhaps?" I laughed, bumping him with my shoulder, "This is what I get after years of searching for something _not-fishy_ in the Docks and wasting countless quills teaching someone with a bad temper? I've been your friend for years, you asshole!"

His awkwardly faked cough, covering the embarrassedly flattered chuckle, was just too adorable for me at the moment, so I nudged his side again.

"Of course you're right, I didn't mean… Uh. Forgive me, I've learned to be anxious about presuming the extent of positive nature of how others might regard me."

It took me a couple of seconds to process and it translated into "I've been treated like shit all the time, so now I just assume people don't care."

Then he squeezed my hand and continued softly.

"It isn't fair in your case, of course, and I'm long past doubting your good intentions. But you are..."

Fenris swallowed hard and looked up at me, his voice quiet and serious.

"I... have never allowed anyone too close."

He looked away, and I could feel him shivering slightly for a moment. Something scratched in my chest like a stray cat.

"When my markings were created, the pain was... extraordinary. And the memory lingers."

When he met my eyes again, there's a promise of a smile tugging on his lips and his eyes are deep and dark under the shimmering blinks of fire light.

"But you are unlike any woman I have ever met, Hawke. With you... it might be different."

He gave me the look that at anyone else would seem lewd, but for him it was sharp interest with a hint of dare, which together with low voice changed into velvet tones made for his special brand of seduction.

I frowned, biting down a remark about uniqueness of pyromantic clowns.

"I didn't think I needed anyone. Or wanted anyone. Until now."

He almost breathed it out, quiet and husky, and looked at me from under half-lowered lashes, so I really had only two options - jumping his bones right there, and that would be what my Mom calls "most inappropriate" right after the whole dead friends talk, _or _do what I always do in complex situations - joke.

"Bullshit! You think I didn't saw you staring at me all these years? Though granted, you're looked more pissed than appreciative about it."

He chuckled softly and shrugged.

"You're right, I suppose. It would be more accurate to say I didn't think I'd ever need to be wanted."

The scratching behind my collarbones turned into hooks that jerked breath out of me.

"You are."

* * *

><p>"Andraste's flaring nostrils, what a stink! This paint is made of Qunari's lethal powder or what? How did we even slept with that smell?! Speaking of which, why did you sleep in a freaking armchair, is there not a single other bed in this whole damn mansion?!"<p>

Hawke always was in bad mood in the mornings, but now she was also ruffled and positively fiery. Fenris quietly watched her wave knife wildly from the corner of the kitchen, putting apples into the basket with pies that her mother had sent them and hiding a smile, because calling her "adorable" right now could get him if not a knife, then a fireball in the face.

"Perhaps there's still one not completely covered in paint, but I decided to not take my chances in the darkness."

"Oh. Right. Err. But still, you could say something, we'd figure it out!"

"I'm fine, and besides, I had..."

"Don't you dare to say you had worse on the run."

He blinked, because he _was _going to say it.

"I had worse too, you remember I was there with you in the Deep Roads? Urgh, actually I think I didn't crave for fresh air so much since the bloody Deep Roads! Fenris, I see you're trying pretend you're not grinning, it's somehow even worse than when you mock me in the face, just tell me why I'm a clown again."

"I just remembered how when we walked out of the cavern, you brought down a thunderstorm on us."

"Aw, come on, it wasn't a thunderstorm, just a little rain," she laughed, finally put down a knife and folded her arms. "Anders and Varric ran away, but… you stayed."

She grinned at him, radiant and easy, the same smile of a shared secret as back then, and he heard himself saying.

"It was the first time I knew I wanted to kiss you."

Her smile froze for a second in surprise, but then grew wider and mischievous. There was a heartbeat of a tense, thick silence, and then the waterdrops fell down. It took him few moments to process, the clear currents raining from a ceiling of a stuffy old kitchen, rushing out the dust and the paint smell. Hawke just stood there, grinning and holding his gaze, rain gleaming in the waves of her hair, he skipped a heartbeat and all of the thoughts, because in the next moment he crossed the kitchen in two strides and caught her smiling lips with his own.

_Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me_  
><em>Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded<em>  
><em>Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?<em>  
><em>Just a little late, you found me, you found me.<em>


End file.
